


When I'm Gone

by thatcrazywriterley



Series: Anthea Gattis Chronicles [1]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction, Sherlock (TV), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Flashbacks, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-09-28 17:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 65,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17187410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatcrazywriterley/pseuds/thatcrazywriterley
Summary: Anthea Gattis has been in love with her best friend, Tom, since the day they met. But as they grow, Tom leaves her further and further behind, heartbroken and alone. When Tom announces his engagement, she finally decides to pick up and move on with her life since she doesn't want to spend forever in love with someone who doesn't love her back. But if he's so happy with his engagement, why does Tom miss her so much?





	1. Prologue

July 2005

            “Annie!” he shouted, rushing across the green. The sunlight burned through his riotous blond curls, casting shadows of light and dark. His long, loping stride brought him to me in a few steps and then he swept me up into a twirling hug that was like nothing else in the world. It was warm and smelled like home.

            He laughed as he dropped a kiss on my cheek. “Tom,” I giggled back, hugging him so hard my arms ache.

            “You’ve grown,” Tom said, hooking his arm around my shoulders as we walked across the green toward the house I grew up in. The taxi he arrived in disappears around the corner as we walk arm-in-arm up the steps to my front door. My mother already has the door open; her arms open wide for a hug from him. He wrapped her in a warm hug as well. “She’s grown.”

            Mum laughed and pulled the two of us into the house. Tom sniffed the air and nearly fell over with joy. “Mmm… is that cinnamon bread?”

            I put my hand against his back and pushed him toward the kitchen. It felt good to have him home again after he’d been away for so long. It wasn’t for long, but it was enough to be getting on with. “Mum’s made everything you like. Right down to the pudding. And the putanesca. And I haven’t grown. You’ve just forgotten what I look like.”

            “Never,” he said, mumbling around a mouthful of my mother’s homemade cinnamon bread and honey butter. “But you’re taller. That’s impossible. You’re twenty-four. Stop growing!”

            “I’m not growing!” I shouted playfully, pushing him into a chair and piling a plate full of food for him. “Now eat. You’re too thin, Thomas. All this running around the country in plays.”

            He grinned. It made him look incredibly impish and young, like he did when we were children. When we ran across the green laughing and shouting with the other neighborhood kids, juice boxes and candies in our pockets. When we wiggled our way beneath the stands at the community centre and had our first kiss when we were eleven. He laughed and worked his way through the plate set before him.

            “You’re brilliant, Anthea.” Tom practically licked the plate clean before handing it up to me with a puppy-dog look in his blue eyes. “Just a bit more?”

            I worked around the kitchen, filling up another plate for him. It was like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. But perhaps that RADA food wasn’t the same as a home-cooked meal. When I sat the plate in front of him, Tom looped his arm around my waist and gave me a squeeze.

            “I love you, Annie. You’re the best friend a guy could have.”

            My heart skipped a beat and rushed ahead at the same time. “Love you, too, Tom.” I kissed the top of his curling hair and went to make my own plate.

            Hopefully I could eat, especially since I just realized I was in love with my best friend.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Present Day

            “Annie, darling,” Uncle Mark said as he sat on the sofa beside me, “what’s the matter?”

            I curled beneath the blanket and turned up the sound on the telly, watching the camera pan over a crowd of celebrities. It was the night of the MTV movie awards, and my best friend in the whole entire world was nominated for three of them. I had the DVR set to record the entire show, but I couldn’t wait until the next morning to find out the results. Uncle Mark handed me a warm cup of tea and smiled.

            I couldn’t help but smile back. He looked so sallow and severe without his beard. Now that  _Sherlock_  was back to filming, he had gone back to his Mycroft Holmes look. “I don’t know,” I answered, hugging the mug in my palms. “Terribly jealous and deliriously happy at once, I suppose.”

            Uncle Mark patted my knee and put his feet up on the table. He was back in London for a few days, overseeing some exterior shots and things at the set for Baker Street. For the last twenty-four hours he’d been trying to get me to come by the set. Martin and Ben would be in doing a few scenes if I wanted to watch. Somehow, although I was as desperate for new information as any other fan of the show, I couldn’t bring myself to go have a look. It was an important time for Tom, and I wanted to focus completely on him.

            “Anthea, you’ve known Tom for how long now?”

            I grinned, thinking back all those years to when we moved in next door to the Hiddlestons. “Twenty-five years.”

            “A quarter of a century, good Lord!” He smiled in that soothing way of his. “And, in—oh, let’s just say the last five years—you haven’t thought it prudent to let him know you’re besotted by him?”

            “Uncle Mark!” I screeched, nearly slopping tea everywhere. It was one thing to know in every ounce of my being that I loved Tom Hiddleston, but it was quite another for everyone else to see it, too. “Am I that transparent?”

            He squeezed my knee and sighed. “To everyone but Thomas, it seems.”

            I blinked a thousand times. My eyes burned with tears I wouldn’t allow to come. Uncle Mark was always one for putting things the way they were. He didn’t sugar-coat things very often, and he certainly hadn’t done it just then.

 

            “You were brilliant,” I said, my voice a hush in the darkness of my bedroom. It was almost six in the morning, but I’d been awake the entire night. My mind was so exhausted that I couldn’t really figure out what time it was in California, but by the sounds coming from the other end of the line it couldn’t have been that late. Tom was obviously at an after party.

            “Liar,” he said, laughing. I could hear people milling around him. Chris Evans was laughing in the background.

            I laughed with him, covering my mouth to stifle the sound. Uncle Mark was asleep down the hall. “Okay, you looked horribly out of place. No one wears a suit to those things! At least not MTV!”

            “You could have told me that before I got on the bloody plane, Annie. I looked ridiculous.”

            I shrugged, forgetting he couldn’t see me, and curled up under the blankets. Monday morning was quickly rushing in and I didn’t want to get up for work. “Isn’t that what you have a stylist and a publicist for?”

            “They’re paid to tell me things. You tell me the truth because you’re brutal.”

            “I’m not brutal,” I whispered harshly. When it came to Tom, I was a kitten. Unless someone was being horrible to him, then I was a lioness protecting her cubs. “I just tell you what you need to hear.”

            “And I love you for it, Annie.” The timbre of his voice made me think of the way he smiled, because that was exactly what he was doing just then. I knew it. And it made me giddy to think that he was smiling because he loved me.

             _Maybe Tom isn’t as oblivious as Uncle Mark thinks._  “Love you, too, Tom,” I said, surprised to hear the complete emotion in my voice. I’d practically laid my soul bare with four little words.

            Tom laughed, although I couldn’t be sure if it was at me or someone on his end. He was suddenly back on the line. “Luke’s yelling for me. Have a good day, Annie.”

            “Goodnight,” I mumbled because the line had already disconnected.

            I rolled over and dropped my mobile on the night stand. My room suddenly felt too small and the walls too close. It was like I was too big for the world I’d known for so long. Maybe it was the exhaustion finally creeping up on me, but I couldn’t stop the small smile that twisted my lips as I dozed off in the early morning light. I just had to get through that day. Tom had promised before he flew to California that we’d spend a day together when he came back to London.

             _Tomorrow,_  I thought to myself.  _Tomorrow I’ll hug Tom and I’ll kiss tell him I love him. Really love him. And things will be fantastic._

 

            I set two glasses on the table in the living room next to a bottle of wine and went back into the kitchen to finish dinner. As I’d grown up, my mother had taught me how to cook and I loved it. Every year at holidays, she would teach me something new, just like my Gran had done before she died. As I looked back, I realized I always asked them to teach me to cook something Tom liked. I could make practically any kind of dessert you could ask for and three dozen other dishes that he craved during his time home.

            That night I was making something Tom loved for my mother to make when we were in university and on holiday—white rice topped with tender pieces of sirloin steak and glazed carrots. He always laughed and said it was a very manly meal. Mum made him have seconds and thirds. She said he was too skinny.

            I was just putting out a helping on each plate when Tom knocked on my front door. I saw his car from the kitchen window, so I shouted through the house. “It’s open!”

            He tromped through my house like he lived there, a thought that made me flush with pleasure. How nice would it be to share a home with him? To come home to him every day after work and know he was mine? My pulse hammered against my throat. It was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.

            “Dear God, that smells amazing,” Tom said, throwing his jacket over the back of a barstool and sitting down. He smiled that dazzling smile of his and stuck his face over the steam wafting into the air over a plate. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

            I smiled, feeling warm deep in my stomach. “Grab a plate then.” I picked up mine and pushed the other plate toward him. Our fingers touched as he took it. I watched the shiver run up my arm and felt the heat pour over my cheeks. I took off for the living room before he could say anything. “There’s wine in here.”

            Tom sank onto one end of the sofa while I curled up against the arm on the other side, sitting in the lotus position facing him. He picked up his fork and shoveled some of the food into his mouth. A low hum emanated from his chest. “Between you, your mum, and Emma, you’re going to completely fatten me up.”

            With a grin, I reached forward and poured a bit of wine into both glasses. “You need fattening up. After all the weight you lost for Adam, you need a few home-cooked meals. More than a few.” A bit of food dropped off my fork and onto the worn through jeans I had on. I sat the plate on the table and went to the kitchen for some napkins. On my way back, I pressed my hand to Tom’s cheek. “You could break a sidewalk with those cheekbones they’re so sharp.”

            He took the napkin I offered, completely ignorant of the way my entire body went tingly when my skin touched his. “That’s what Vanessa says.”

            My food got caught in my throat. I felt like I was choking. “Who’s Vanessa?”

            A light burst in Tom’s eyes as he smiled, little crinkles appearing at their corners. Something about his whole face changed. It was similar to the look on his face when he sat on my patio and told me about getting cast in  _Thor_. Or when he asked for advice on how he should do the betrothal in  _Henry V_. My stomach twisted, and I was so terrified of what he was about to say.

            “Vanessa? I haven’t told you about her?” One of his brows lifted, the beatific look on his face replaced by confusion. “I could have sworn I told you about her.”

            Appetite gone, I pushed my plate away and cradled the glass of wine between my palms. “We don’t see much of each other anymore, Tom. You’re always off somewhere these days. Maybe you just forgot.”

            He shook his head and pushed another forkful of food into his mouth. “Impossible. I wouldn’t forget to tell  _you_  about Vanessa.”

            “So tell me.”

            Tom grinned and put his plate on the table in front of him. Then he turned toward me and looked happier than I’d ever seen him. “She’s a woman I met months ago. Annie, she’s amazing. I think you’d like her. Vanessa’s a journalist friend of Luke’s. He actually introduced us. She’s brilliant and passionate. If she hadn’t been on a trip to Sudan this weekend, I’d have taken her to the awards with me.”

            I forced a smile onto my face. “It’s that serious?”

            His smile got wider and brighter. “I think so.”

            Something in my chest felt heavy and cold. Still, I leaned forward and hugged him because he was my best friend. “I’m glad you’re happy, Tom.”

            He squeezed me tightly, so tight it pushed a rush of silent tears out of me. I hastily wiped them away as he let me go. “Really?”

            “Absolutely.” The smile on my face began to feel a bit more real. I really  _did_  want Tom to be happy. It just hurt that he wasn’t happy like that with me. I pushed my barely touched plate toward him. “Finish it. I can’t.”

            Tom’s expression switched from happy to concern. “Are you alright, Annie? You look pale.” His hand pressed against my forehead to feel for a fever.

            “I’m fine. Just a long day.” I pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around my shoulders. “There’s cheesecake in the fridge. New York style, just the way you like.”

            He hugged me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms to warm me up. But nothing could get rid of the block of ice in my chest. “Love you, Annie.”

            “Love you, too.” The words nearly choked me. I meant them with every fiber of my being, but not the way he did. Tom loved me like he loved his sisters. I loved him whole-heartedly, like he put the stars in the sky and made the sun rise in the morning.

            My heart shattered in my chest.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_May 2009_

            I dropped a tub of orange sherbet ice cream on the table and sat a bottle of Sprite next to two cups. Tom paced back and forth on the patio, too keyed up with nervous energy to sit down. I’d known him for long enough to know that he had something to tell me and that it would only come out when he was good and ready.

           While he paced, wearing a rut into my stone patio, I put together orange creamsicle floats like we used to eat as kids. We were twenty-eight and doing what we loved. Tom had been doing plays and productions for television for years. I had just recently gotten a job as an assistant copy editor at a publishing house and had a good chance of working my way up to a senior editor. The whole world was rolling out at our feet. We were young and we held the future in the palm of our hands.

            Tom finally stopped going to and fro and looked at me with shining blue eyes. A grin broke over his face. He pushed his hands through his wild blond curls, and then held his arms out at his sides. He looked so very young and uncontrollably excited. “I got it,” he said.

            It took me a moment to understand what he meant. “You got it?” I squealed.

            He nodded, his curls bouncing up and down in a riot of corkscrews. “You, my dear Anthea Gattis, are looking at the God of Mischief.”

            I jumped so quickly that I knocked over the bottle of Sprite so that it splashed onto the stone patio and poured into the grass. I took off running across the garden and jumped at him, throwing my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. Pride gushed through me. I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over my cheeks.

            Tom locked his arms around my back and swung me around in circles. We were both laughing and screaming at the top of our lungs. Jumping up and down and dancing around the garden until we fell into a heap on the grass. I’d seen him excited about a role before, but never like this.  _This_  was very, very big.

             _This_  could change his life.

            He grabbed me by the hand, snatched up the ice cream, and dragged me to the trampoline in the corner of the garden. He’d teased me about bringing it with me when I’d moved into my own home, but he never missed an opportunity to take a jump on it when he came by. We climbed up onto the wide, springy surface and bounced our way to the center. Clutching the ice cream to his chest, Tom gave one jump and dropped onto his bum.

            I was so excited that I danced around him as he pried a spoonful of sherbet from the tub. “You’re going to be in a huge film! A  _huge_  one!” I laughed and fell to my knees, bobbing as the mesh settled beneath us. “I’m so proud of you, Tom!”

            He blushed from the collar of his t-shirt up to the roots of his hair. “I just can’t believe it. It’s insane.”

            “They’d be insane if they picked anybody else.” I grinned, plucking the spoon from his fingers and grabbing a bite for myself. I tried to talk around the treat melting over my tongue. “You’re devious.”

            “Devious?” he gasped, looking thoroughly shocked.

            “Infinitely,” I teased, jamming the spoon back into the quickly thawing ice cream. I recognized a second too late that I’d made a grave mistake. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

            Tom grinned, the youthful roundness of his cheeks turning a glorious pink. In one swift move, he dug the spoon into the sherbet, bent it back with the tip of his finger, and sent it flying at me. It landed in a cold, wet splat on the front of my shirt. My mouth dropped open, and I squealed.

            “Devious!” Tom shouted, clambering to his feet and dragging the tub with him. “Devious, she says!  _Infinitely_  devious, even.”

            I lunged and managed to get a handful of squishy, melting ice cream in my fist. Jumping and bouncing, I chased after him as the orange concoction dripped between my fingers. Finally I jerked my arm back and launched it at him. It smacked against his cheek and slid down his neck. He howled in laughter and tossed the spoon over his shoulder, resorting to digging his long-fingered hands into the tub and scooping great bits of it out.

            “Tom, don’t! Please!” I screamed and scrambled for the edge of the trampoline. His eyes danced with mischief as he half-jumped, half-ran toward me. His arm hooked around my waist and pulled me back at the same time he smashed the sherbet into my face.

            It was cold and slimy and incredibly sticky. It rushed up my nose and dripped down my neck beneath my shirt. I coughed and laughed as Tom pushed a glob of the melting mess into my hair. He let me go long enough to reach for more, and I slipped out of his grasp, diving for the tub of melted mush before he could get to it. I shoved both hands into the mess and slung it at him, bouncing forward to rub it in his face the same way he did to me.

            “Horrible girl!” he thundered, wiping his hand down his face. I had a split second of warning before he tackled me to the trampoline. We went bouncing and sliding through the sticky mess of sherbet ice cream, shrieking and laughing.

            We lay on our backs staring up at the sky and trying to catch our breath. “Look at the mess you made,” I scolded, shaking off the residue still dripping over my arms.

            Tom looked aghast, even through the orange streaks on his face. “ _Me?_ ”

            I smacked him on the stomach and grinned when he made an  _oof_ sound. “Yes, you, Mr. God of Mischief.”

            He tucked one sticky arm beneath my head. “Love you, Annie.”

            I made myself believe that the shiver that rushed through me was because it was cold. “Love you, Tom.”

 

            “Anthea,” Tom said, poking his head around the door of my bedroom. Luckily I’d just pulled the hem of my t-shirt down over my stomach. He had the good breeding to look bashful. “Do you have any of Anthony’s stuff here? I can’t get back in my car like this.”

            Grinning, I scrubbed a towel through my damp hair. “I think there are a few of his old shirts in the closet. Maybe some sweatpants in that bottom drawer.”

            He nodded and came in, the sticky residue of sherbet ice cream still stuck in his hair. Before I knew it, Tom pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it into the pile of my dirty clothes. His back was to me, but it was still a beautiful sight. Smooth skin, slightly browned by all the time he spent running. I could see the muscles moving beneath the skin as he pulled open the closet door to search for a clean shirt.

            My hands itched to reach for the warmth of his skin, but I worked them through my hair instead. I turned away when I heard the clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor. Blood rushed into my face. If I’d been able to look in the mirror, I was sure I would have been red from the neck up.

             “You know how the shower head works,” I said, pushing past him to drop the damp towel in a hamper in the bathroom. I purposely kept my eyes on the floor.

            Tom squeezed between me and the wall to get to the shower. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him step into the tub in nothing but his boxers. I laughed, covering my face to hide both the blush and the grin. “Really?”

            He was bent over with the removable showerhead over his head, spraying the sticky mess out of his curls. “Really, what?”

            “Puppy paws?” I waved my hand in the direction of his underwear, hardly able to keep the giggles down.

            “It was either these or nothing. Everything else is in the wash.” He shut off the water and reached out, wiggling his fingers for a towel to dry his hair. I handed him the one still clutched in my fingers.

            My mind went all kinds of places it shouldn’t have. It wasn’t a good idea to think of my best friend without his clothes on. It would only make things awkward.

            Tom stepped out of the tub and shook his curls over my head, spraying me with little droplets of water. He disappeared back into my bedroom and had the t-shirt on by the time I came out of the bathroom. I leaned against the end of my bed and watched as he pulled his shoes on.

            “Mum’s having a dinner this weekend. Sarah’s coming home for a few days and we’re going to celebrate. I want you to come.” He smiled and gave me a huge hug. “She’ll be excited to see you.”

            Even in my brother’s clothes, he smelled like Tom. Like sunshine and wind and running. I didn’t know running had a smell, but it did on him. “Absolutely! I haven’t seen Sarah in ages.”

            I walked him to the door, reluctant for him to leave. It was dark and stars turned the sky into a blanket of diamonds. Leaning against the door frame, I watched Tom get into his car. It wasn’t until he’d driven away that I realized he’d left his clothes in the dirty pile on my bedroom floor.

 

_Present Day_

            After Tom left with everything that remained of dinner and dessert, I locked the door and made my way through the house in darkness. My heart ached and tears rolled down my cheeks. I’d loved Tom for as long as I could remember, and I guess I always hoped he’d look at me one day and realize how much I loved him and how much he loved me in return. I never thought I’d wait too long, that one day he’d tell me he was in love with someone else and expect me to be happy for him.

            But I was selfish to think he’d always stay mine, especially when I never told him I wanted him to be.

            I knew it would make me hurt even more, but I moved without any conscious thought. I pulled the old, worn t-shirt from my bottom drawer and slipped it on in place of my normal pajamas. It had a faded Eton logo on the grey fabric. Tom had left it that day when he came to tell me he’d been cast as Loki. It seemed that was the only thing I’d have of Tom’s to call my own.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Present Day

            I threw myself into work. Two of my clients had new manuscript drafts that needed work, and I had to get through them so I could get their corrections back to them. They were five- and six-hundred pages each, and going through each one of them with a fine-toothed comb would take days if not weeks. It was good because it gave me something to keep my mind off Tom and his great revelation about his brilliant journalist girlfriend named Vanessa.

            I had given myself that one night of holding Tom to my chest by way of his old t-shirt before walling off that part of my heart. I couldn’t bear to spend more time just then thinking about how my heart had pretty much been torn out of my chest. If I let myself think of what happened, I’d shut down.

            For days after that disastrous night with Tom, I left home not long after the sun came up and didn’t come back from work until long after dark settled. I closed the curtains over the doors leading to the patio so I wouldn’t have to look at the garden where we’d celebrated his big break. I even thought of calling my brother to see if he wanted to pick up the trampoline for his girls. Seeing it now was just too painful.

            Most days I just went to bed and avoided everyone and everything possible.

            Tom called a few times in the days after he excitedly told me about Vanessa. The first time was to check to make sure I was feeling better. The next few times were to invite me to a dinner at his flat. There were only so many times I could avoid his calls or send them to voicemail. Eventually, I gave him a call during my lunch break so I at least had the excuse of work to keep the conversation short.

            “Annie,” Tom said, sounding harried and less than pleased. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for days.”

            “I’m sorry,” I said, forcing my words to come out happier than I felt. “I’ve got so many deadlines for my authors right now. I’ve been working around the clock pretty much.”

            My assistant dropped a stack of folders on my desk. I rifled through them while I listened to Tom on the other end. “I’d like you to come to dinner. Vanessa’s coming back from her Sudan trip and I want to introduce you. Mum and Emma are coming.”  
            “Sarah still in New Delhi?”

            “Yes. It would mean a lot to me if you’d come.” I could almost see the pleading look in his eyes as he said it. “You’re as important to me as my sisters, Annie. She needs to know that.”

            I sighed, noisily turning pages so he’d think it was because of work and not because of him. “When?” One thing would always be true, I’d never let Tom down.

            “Saturday evening at seven. Wear whatever you want. Emma and I are getting a bunch of take-away.” Tom sounded immediately happier. “You’re going to love her. I promise.”

            I made a noncommittal noise and begged off the call, telling Tom I had work to do. My heart just couldn’t handle promises of loving his girlfriend. Not when I loved him.

 

            Uncle Mark slid into the booth across from me, absently rubbing his hand over his face. His eyes looked tired. “Anthea, you look horrible. Is something the matter?”

            I gave him a half-hearted smile and sipped at the Long Island Iced Tea in front of me. “Tom’s in love. And I’m supposed to be happy for him.”

            He reached across the table and squeezed my hand, lifting his other for the waitress to bring him a drink. I downed nearly half of mine before the waitress even got to the table. He ordered a water and a plate of chips for us to share. Uncle Mark gave me the same look Daddy did when he was worried about me.

            “Haven’t said anything, then?” he asked, picking up my drink and sniffing it. He made a face and pushed it away.

            I pulled the drink back and took another swallow. Warmth ran through my veins. I was well on the way to being thoroughly sloshed. “It’s too late. I’m going to dinner Saturday night to meet her.”

            Uncle Mark leaned back, putting one hand over his mouth like he was going to be sick. He looked sad. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Anthea. You look like you haven’t slept in days. Or eaten much, for that matter.”

            When the waitress came back with his drink and the chips, he sent her back with an order for some fish and a soda for me. Uncle Mark sat his mobile on the table and steepled his fingers against his lips. I snorted. “You’re Mycrofting, Uncle.”

            He smiled in that slippery way I’d seen him do on the telly. “I’ve got a proposition for you, my dear. Something I think you’ll enjoy.”

            My forehead fell onto the table. The room around me was already spinning. I might have been thirty-two, but I felt like an eighteen-year-old after their first real night of drinking. “I’m not spying on your brother.”

            Uncle Mark always got a kick out of the fact that I watched his shows. I was an avid _Sherlock_ viewer and had even plied him with questions to explain the cliffhanger at the end of series two. He never would tell me if my theories were correct. He just smiled and said I’d have to wait. With _Doctor Who_ it was a bit easier to get information out of him. He’d even introduced me to Matt Smith once. I completely lost it I was so excited.

            “I’ve got John for that,” he said, chuckling. “But this does have to do with Sherlock. Steven and I have been talking. I showed him some of your plays, and he loved the way you tell stories. We’d like you to write an episode for this series. The last of the three for the year actually.”

            That got my attention even through the hazy fog of almost-drunkeness. I sat up straighter and absently picked up one of the chips, dragging it through the ketchup on the side. “Really?”

            Uncle Mark smiled, obviously pleased to draw me—somewhat—out of my funk. “Yes. We’re still filming the first episode, and we’re doing work throughs on the script for the second. But we’d need the script for the third in a few months. Interested?”

            “Any ideas of what you’re looking for?” I grabbed another chip.

            He pulled a notebook from the pocket of his coat. It looked a lot like the one Sherlock carried on the show. I grinned. “Steven and I were thinking something with Molly and Sherlock. That’s a relationship we’d like to develop a bit more. Especially since we’re bringing in a Mary for John. We don’t have anything specific as far as storyline, but… there you go.”

            I thought of all the things I had to do at work. Of the deadlines I had with the two manuscripts sitting on my desk and the new novel one of the buyers at the publishing house had pitched to me. And then I thought of all the empty hours I had at home, time that would otherwise be filled with thinking about Tom and his new girlfriend and things I could never have. I wasn’t sleeping much anyway. I might as well fill that emptiness with something useful.

            “I’ll do it.” The waitress pushed a plate of fish fillets in front of me and sat a sweating glass of Coca Cola beside my almost-gone Iced Tea. “I’ll have an outline for you by the weekend.”

            Uncle Mark grinned and started to dig into the food. “Come by the set tomorrow. Martin and Ben are doing some scenes on the street outside the Baker Street exterior. It might help to meet the two of them before you get started.”

            As much as I loved _Sherlock_ , thinking about Benedict Cumberbatch inevitably led my mind back around to thinking about Tom. They had done a movie together after all. As if he could see the turns my mind was taking, Uncle Mark patted my hand. “The boys will love you. You can get a feel for their mannerisms.”

 

            I checked in with the security guard and made my way up the street toward the set. Cameras on cranes stood over the street while others sat on tracks that ran down the sidewalk outside Speedy’s Deli. People milled up and down the street. Some of them had headphones or walkie talkies. A row of canvas chairs sat behind a table lined with a bank of monitors.

            “Uncle Mark!” I called, waving my arm over my head to get his attention. My uncle stood by a black London taxi with a swarthy looking man with curly graying hair. Steven Moffat. A younger man stood beside them, his sandy blond hair hidden beneath a pageboy cap. All three of them looked up when I yelled.

            I crossed over to them, weaving through the throng of production assistants and other people working on the set. Uncle Mark wrapped me in a warm hug and waved his hand at his companions. “Steven Moffat, whom I’m sure you know.” My uncle gave me a wink as he directed his next comment to his co-creator. “You should hear the things she says about you at home. Thinks you’re a horrid man.”

            Steven laughed and crossed his arms. “But I keep you watching, don’t I?”

            I grinned. “Just to break my heart again.”

            Uncle Mark gestured to the other man, who I obviously recognized. But I let him get on with the introductions. “Martin Freeman. This is my niece, Anthea Gatiss. She’s going to be writing an episode for us.”

            Martin smiled, and I had a sudden flash of him in a red waistcoat and a mop of curly honey brown hair. “Fantastic. Series finale, yeah?”

            “That’s what I’m told. I’m supposed to,” I hooked my fingers in the air, “observe your mannerisms. The better to write you with, apparently.”

            He laughed. “Dear God, you’ll be bored to tears.”

            Before I could stop it, my mouth was running without my permission. “I just loved _The Hobbit_. Sorry… that’s horribly unprofessional, but it was just… brilliant.”

            Martin actually looked a bit pink in the cheeks. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

            “Oh, who have we here?” The voice that spoke was deep and melodic. It took me a moment to put the voice with the face. Probably because I was actively trying not to think about him. His association with Tom was too close.

            Uncle Mark took me by the shoulders and set me in front of him. I was nose-to-nose—well, nose-to-chest—with Benedict Cumberbatch. He was in complete Sherlock mode: shock of curly dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and that damned plum shirt open at the neck. He was even wearing the coat with the collar turned up.

            “Ben, this is my niece, Anthea. Annie.”

            I came up with the thoroughly brilliant line, “Hello.”

            Benedict smiled, showing off a set of beautiful teeth so bright that they could light the set themselves. His eyes were an interesting color, like washed out snow or turquoise. And I had to admit, he was amazingly gorgeous up close. “Anthea. Dear God, that’s about like Benedict, isn’t it? No wonder you shorten it up.”

            Martin gave a snort and covered his face to stifle the laughter. Benedict looked around and took on a bashful expression. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

            Uncle Mark chuckled. “Yes.”

            “Damn it.” Color burned high on Benedict’s cheeks.

            “Ignore Ben. Sometimes he finds it a bit difficult to shake off Sherlock.” Martin looked halfway between apologetic and amused. I couldn’t help it. I immediately liked him.

            “Yes,” Benedict said, giving me a wink and a twinkling smile. “Ignore me. I’m bloody useless.”

            “Anthea—Annie,” Martin said, tipping his head in my direction, “is writing our series finale. She’s here to observe. Us. Our mannerisms. So behave.”

            I giggled and looked at Uncle Mark, who looked exasperated. “Do they always do this?”

            “Unfortunately.”

            For the rest of the day, I sat in a canvas chair next to Uncle Mark as the crew sat up scenes and worked through the process of filming. One of the production assistants even gave me a copy of the script so I could see how it was structured and watch how Martin and Ben translated the words and descriptions into action. It was absolutely brilliant.

            At the end of the shoot, Uncle Mark invited me to dinner with Ben and Martin to talk about the finale. For the first time in days, I actually felt happy.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

November 1999

            I stepped off the train just a few miles away from Cambridge, excitement pouring through me. It had been months since I’d seen Tom. He’d come home in the summer from Eton looking like a completely different person. He’d grown at least another foot and had filled out. His short blond hair had begun to grow out over the summer, and I knew his curls would be coming back soon. I missed them almost as much as I missed my best friend.

            Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I raised my hand to hail a taxi. I had the email from Tom in the pocket of my backpack telling me where to meet him. I pulled out the folded scrap of paper and read off the address to the cabbie. My heart thumped against my chest as the centuries old buildings of the University of Cambridge came into view. Tom was there somewhere. He had started his life there; just as I’d started mine back in London.

            The cabbie dropped me off outside a building of student flats. I paid him, grabbed my backpack, and ran to the door. A series of buttons sat in a silver plate by the front door, a name or list of names next to each one. I searched the names until I found _Hiddleston_ and pressed the button. There was static, and then a voice.

            “Hello?” Tom sounded horribly sleepy.

            “It’s me!” I said cheerfully.

            “Get up here,” he said. His voice was followed by a loud buzzing sound as the lock on the front door disengaged.

            I rushed inside and took the stairs at a run. He was only on the second floor, and the elevator would take too long. I was beaming from ear to ear when I hit the second floor and saw the door to 2B standing open. Tom stood there in a pair of ripped and baggy jeans and a t-shirt so faded it was barely possible to see the Eton crest on the front. He grinned and held out his arms.

            “Annie,” he grunted as I slammed into him, wrapping my arms around his waist for a hug. “Did you get taller?”

            Laughing, I smacked the back of my hand against his chest. “I stopped growing in third form, and you know it.” I lifted my foot, showing off a pair of wedge sandals. “Optical illusion.”

            He pulled me into the flat and took my bag off my shoulder. The sitting room was sparsely decorated, with just a television, a sofa and a few tables. The kitchen was roomy for a student flat, but the bedrooms were practically closets. I grinned as Tom showed me to the one with a view of the green. “This one’s mine. You can sleep here, and I’ll take the sofa.”

            I raised my brows and crossed my arms. Tom’s face went suddenly pink. “You’re twice as long as that sofa, Thomas. Your knees’ll be hanging off the end of it. Sleep in here. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I don’t mind.”

            Tom plopped down on the twin mattress and bounced. He took my hand and tugged me down until I was next to him. Then we both fell onto our backs and stared at the ceiling where he’d tacked a collage of pictures. The three of us—Tom, Emma, and I—on Boxing Day when we were ten, covered in mud because we’d wanted to have a snowball fight and there wasn’t any snow to be had. The day he left the Dragon School for Eton, his sisters and I draped over him and hugging him like we’d never see him again. His graduation from Eton when we all plied him with gifts and pride that he’d gotten into Cambridge.

            “We could _both_ sleep in here,” Tom said quietly. “I think we’d both fit. As long as you didn’t kick me to death in the middle of the night.”

            I huffed, but reached for his hand anyway. “If I remember right, you were the one who left Em and I with bruises when we all camped out in the back garden and shared that huge sleeping bag. We had welts on our legs for days.”

            Tom pulled a ghastly expression, but couldn’t hold it and laughed. “I stand corrected. So what do you say? Just like old times?”

            I turned my head to find him grinning at me. “Old times.”

 

            We spent the afternoon walking around the campus. Tom had his arm around my shoulder, and I had my fingers tangled with his. He pointed out all the buildings and went completely wonky over his classes. About which ones were boring and which ones fascinated him to no end. He took me down the street to a pub where he and his friends went on weekends. We sat in a booth on the same side of the table and shared a huge plate of chips.

            It was dark by the time we got back to his flat. He flipped the light on and jumped when he saw someone on the sofa. “Shite, David. Warn somebody!” he growled, going to the kitchen and grabbing two waters from the fridge. He tossed one to me and leaned against the wall separating the kitchen from the sitting room.

            The boy named David looked back at us. He was interesting looking, but certainly not as adorably handsome as Tom. He had muddy green eyes and a crop of ginger hair. “Sorry. Who’s this?”

            Tom grinned proudly. “My best friend, Annie. She’s up visiting for the weekend. She’s staying my room.”

            David smirked and winked at Tom. “That kind of friend, eh?”

            I stifled a giggle as I watched Tom’s face go from flushed to pale and back again. He clenched his fingers at his side. “Fuck off.” He took my hand and pulled me down the hallway to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

            Tom dropped onto the bed and put the pillow over his face. I tried so hard to keep from laughing. I really did. But it was impossible. I sank down on the floor and nearly rolled with the mirth of it. He peeked out from beneath the pillow with a scowl. “What the hell is so funny?”

            “You!” I gasped, pressing my forehead to my knees. “Your face!”  
            He sat up and chucked the pillow at me. “My face? What’s wrong with my face?”

            “The look on it. I swear, I thought you were going to punch him. You’d break your hand on that Neanderthal’s jaw.”

            Tom’s shoulders jerked as he started laughing. It was amazing. The sound filled the tiny bedroom and wrapped around me like a warm blanket from home. He crawled into the floor beside me and smiled, tucking a bit of my unruly, blue-streaked brown hair behind my ear. “People don’t talk about you like that. Not to me.”

            My heart jumped into my throat, and I wanted to say something. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I smiled back, leaned forward to kiss his forehead and grabbed my toiletry bag from my backpack. “I’m going to take a shower. Then I’m going to bed.”

            I was in and out of the shower in what felt like record time. As I padded barefoot back down the hallway to Tom’s room, I heard voices in the sitting room. One of them was Tom’s, while another was female. And incredibly flirty. I tossed my bag back into his bedroom and walked toward the sound of voices while I worked a towel through my damp hair.

            Tom leaned against the back of the sofa, his legs stuck out in front of him. He grinned and laughed at the girl standing just a foot or so away. She was dressed in a short skirt that barely covered her ass and a shirt that was far too tight. It looked like it came from the little girl’s section of the shop. She had bottle blonde hair, and _way_ too much makeup.

            “Um, Tom?” I smiled kind of uncomfortably and looked at him from the hallway. He turned toward the sound of my voice and grinned from ear to ear. “I’m heading to bed. That okay?”

            “Absolutely,” he replied, brushing his fingers through his hair. It was an adorable gesture he did when he was nervous or at a loss for words. Something warm trickled through my limbs. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

            I turned and started down the hallway, only to hear the other girl screeching. “Who the fuck is she?”

            “Annie.” Tom said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world. As if everyone should know who I was. I cringed inwardly, bracing for the blow up I knew was coming.

            “What’s she doing here? Why’s she going to sleep in _your_ room?” The girl was working herself up into a fit. It was sad that I thought it was hilarious. I pressed the towel over my lips to muffle the giggles. “What are you laughing at, bitch?”

            “Hey!” Tom twitched to his feet and stepped between the girl and me. His arms were crossed over his chest, and my vantage point gave me a great view of the bunched muscles in his back. “Watch it, Stacy.”

            “You’ve got another girl sleeping in your bed, Tom! _I’m_ your girlfriend!”

            My mouth dropped open. Tom hadn’t told me he had a girlfriend! Part of me was angry that he kept it from me. But a much larger part was disappointed that he would go for that kind of girl. A foul-mouthed, all flash, no substance… whore. That was the best word for her.

            Tom snorted and took a few steps back toward me. “We went out twice. You’re not my girlfriend. And since you’ve insulted my best friend, you can leave now.”

            He turned his back on her and took me by the hand. “Let’s go to bed,” he said through clenched teeth.

            Once we were snuggled up beneath the blankets, my head propped up on Tom’s chest, he kissed the top of my head. “Love you, Annie.”

            I sighed, remembering how he’d kicked that Stacy girl out because she was mean to me. “Love you, too, Tom.”


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Present Day

            I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I really don’t. The entire week I dreaded Saturday coming. I hated the thought of having to drive over to Tom’s flat and introduce myself to the woman he was so obviously in love with. I was sick at the thought of having to watch them together, of having to sit there and watch him touch her and kiss her like I wanted him to touch and kiss me. And worst of all was that I would have an audience that knew _exactly_ how I was feeling.

            With my luck, this amazingly-brilliant-and-beautiful-journalist-Vanessa would see right through me as well.

            So getting dressed that night was like putting on battle armor. Part of me wanted to dress as casually as possible so that I could drift into the background. Another part of me wanted to go looking fantastic, thinking that maybe Tom would open the door and see me there and realize he didn’t want this Vanessa woman. He wanted me. But the logical bit of me wanted to just curl up in bed and never leave.

            I wasn’t really thinking when I got dressed, but I suppose I actually was. I pulled on my favorite pair of jeans, the ones that fit just right around the waist and hips and the straight legs. I tucked my feet into a pair of canvas sneakers and slipped Tom’s old Eton shirt on. Thinking back, it was like a statement. Like I was subconsciously telling this new woman in his life _I was here first. I’ve been through things with him you’ll never be part of. I’ll always be a part of his life._

            As a sort of peace offering, I whipped up some of my mother’s prized apple tarts. The crusts were golden brown and flaky and filled with cooked apple bits in a sugary syrup. They’d been one of Tom’s favorites as a kid.

 

            Emma answered when I knocked on the door of Tom’s flat. She gave me a sad sort of smile and pulled me inside. Her expression brightened a little when she saw the dessert in my hands. “Playing the domestic card. Hardcore, Annie. Very hardcore.”

            I forced a smile and kicked my shoes off at the door. Tom and I had long since had a habit of making ourselves at home at each other’s places. I made my way into the kitchen and started rummaging around inside for something to drink. He had several bottles of wine, water, and a few cans of Coca Cola and ginger ale. I plucked out a can, not caring which one it was, and popped the top.

            Several containers of Chinese take-away sat on the kitchen island beside some plates. I grinned a little when I saw the two packets of chopsticks on the counter. One had a T written in black marker while the other had an A. At least some things would never change. Chinese for Tom and me always meant chopsticks and teasing.

            “Have you met her yet?” I asked, staring at a faint coffee stain on the counter. I clutched the can of soda tightly to keep my hand from shaking.

            Emma poured herself a glass of wine before leaning on the counter next to me. “Once.”

            She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, but she snapped it shut again. I bit the inside of my lip, the pain pushing the tears out of my eyes. “Tell me about her.”

            “Vanessa’s nice. She’s very intelligent—does war and conflict correspondence for newspapers and things.” She looked at me, and then wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “She’s not replacing you, Annie.”

            I put down my soda and reached for her wine. It was gone within a few seconds. “Oh yes, she is. But I’m going to suck it up and smile because that’s what a friend does.”

            After a moment, Emma hugged me tight. “Just so you know, I think my brother’s an idiot.”

            A tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away angrily, inspecting my fingertips for mascara smudges. “I should’ve said something.”

            Emma and I got more wine and settled on Tom’s sofa while we waited. Apparently amazingly-brilliant-journalist-Vanessa had been delayed in coming back to London from Sudan and Tom had gone to pick her up from the airport. So I sat with my childhood friend in the dim light of the end table lamp talking about the things I wished I had said. Emma wiped my tears from my cheeks, smoothing away the streaks of makeup from beneath my eyes. Growing up, she and Sarah had been the sisters I’d always wanted.

            The front door opened, and Tom’s mother Diane came bustling in. She was a pretty woman, with blonde hair the same shade as Emma and Tom’s. She smiled when she saw me and dropped the bag she was carrying in favor of holding out her arms for a hug. “Anthea! I haven’t seen you in ages, my girl!”

            I forced a smile and hugged her tight, my second mother. At thirty-two, I still found myself referring to her as I had as a child. “Mummy Di,” I said, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. There was something homey about her. About all of them. Every single person with the Hiddleston name made me feel nostalgic and safe.

            She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Thomas hasn’t come home with _that girl_ , yet, has he?”

            I pressed my lips together to stop a grin. Apparently Mummy Di wasn’t very fond of amazingly-brilliant-journalist-Vanessa. “They’re on their way from the airport.”

            Tom’s mother held me at arm’s length. Her eyes teared up a bit when she saw his old Eton shirt. “That’s good,” she said, tipping her head toward it. “That’s very good.”

            That was all she had time to say before the front door burst open again. I could hear Tom’s voice. “Go right on in, darling,” he said. “Mum and Emma are here.”

            _Nothing_ , I thought, _is going right in my life._ My first glance at amazingly-brilliant-journalist-Vanessa was enough to make my stomach flip-flop. She was nearly as tall as Tom without the addition of her three inch heels. Her hair was long, thick, and a shiny raven black. The corners of her eyes had an exotic look, winging upward toward her temples. They were a bright, startling shade of green. She was slender, but with curves enough to entice a man’s attention. And her skin was like toffee, a shade of rich golden brown that no amount of sun-bedding could achieve. Even straight off the plane, she looked casually stunning in a pair of slate grey slacks and a white button-down sleeveless blouse.

            My heart skipped to a stop. _Well. I’m fucked._

            Tom came in just behind her, the strap of a carry-on bag over his shoulder. He pulled a rolling suitcase behind him. Once inside, he shut the door and propped her luggage in the closet to get it out of the way. Vanessa waited for him to step up to her side before coming further into the flat. Her keen, green eyed stare swept across the room, looking at Diane and Emma. Then it fell on me.

            _Bollocks._

            “Tom,” she said, her voice lilting in an accent that sounded partly French and partly Spanish. “I thought Eton was a boy’s school.”

            Tom looked up, confusion twisting his brows. “It is, love. Why do you ask?”

            Vanessa waved her hand at me as if she couldn’t be bothered to expend a great amount of energy. “Because she’s wearing an Eton shirt.”

            Sadness rippled through me as my best friend finally noticed I was there. In the glorious presence of amazingly-brilliant-journalist-Vanessa, I had faded to a wilting shadow in the corner. It struck me just then how he hadn’t even mentioned to her that I was there when he came in the door. But when he saw me, Tom’s face broke into a grin just like it always did when we saw each other. Like he didn’t even realize he’d completely forgotten about me.

            I faked a smile as he hugged me. “Annie! Why are you wearing that old thing?”

            Something in my brain couldn’t resist. “It was either this or nothing. Everything else is in the wash.”

            Tom laughed, his _eheheheh_ filling up the empty spaces in my bones. “I’d forgotten you had it.” He took me by the elbow and drew me across the room to stand in front of the exotically Amazonian woman he’d brought home. “Annie, this is Vanessa Wallace. Vanessa, my best friend in the entire world, Anthea Gatiss. But we all call her Annie.”

            Vanessa and I shook hands, exchanging polite hellos. But I could tell by the hard look in her eyes that she didn’t like the way Tom kept his hand on my arm or the grin on his face when he spoke to me. Two minutes into meeting one another and she already hated me. _Fantastic_.

            Sensing the tension, Emma ushered us all into the kitchen to have dinner. She poured wine while we helped ourselves to the cartons of take-away. Tom picked up the chopsticks on the counter with the T on them, slipped them out of the little paper package and snapped the pieces apart. I reached for mine, only to have them slipped out of my grasp by Vanessa. She ripped the package open and broke them apart.

            The way she looked at them, you’d think they were covered in slime or something. “These are nothing like _real_ chopsticks,” she said, her accent making the statement sound less whiney than I wanted it to be.

            _Then don’t use them_ , I thought sarcastically. I bit my tongue to stop myself from actually saying it.

            “Oh, those are Annie’s,” Tom said. “We always eat Chinese with them.”

            Vanessa looked from me to Tom and back again before holding them out reluctantly. I waved my hand, shooing them away. “Go ahead. I don’t mind,” I said, picking up a fork sullenly. I hadn’t eaten Chinese with an actual fork since I was nine.

            We sat in the sitting room with dinner. Tom and Vanessa sat on the sofa together, talking quietly when they thought no one was paying attention. Emma sat in the empty spot beside her brother, leaving Diane and I to take the love seat. We were situated at a right angle to the sofa, so I had no choice but to look at my best friend and watch him be blatantly, deliriously in love with another woman. My heart was aching so much that I could barely swallow my dinner.

            But I smiled and made conversation. I asked Vanessa about her trip to Sudan and the other places she’d visited because of work. Apparently she’d been to Seville, Paris, Rome, Milan, Moscow, and Hong Kong to name a few. She said her editor wanted to send her to Columbia to cover some guerilla military group in the next few weeks. Vanessa had been to almost every place Tom had.

            I hadn’t been further outside the UK than Calais.

            Emma brought out the apple tarts I’d made for dessert and passed them around. Vanessa asked how much sugar I’d used and how I’d made the crust. When she had the details, she decided not to have one. It would have been fine if she hadn’t gone on about how they were worse for us than the MSGs in the Chinese.

            My skin crawled. I wanted out of there so badly that I couldn’t stand it. While Tom and Vanessa were deep in conversation about the conditions in the Sudan refugee camps, I slipped into the kitchen to help Emma with the dishes. We worked in silence, although she kept glancing at me as if she wanted to make sure I was okay. I gave her a watery smile.

            “I’m going home,” I said, giving her a squeeze. “Tell him I’m happy for him, okay?”

            She nodded, that sad look in her eyes again. More than anyone, Emma knew what it took for me to sit across from that woman and smile at her while she took everything I ever wanted. She could read the hurt in my eyes even if her brother couldn’t. I could count on her.

            “Love you, Annie,” she said, disappearing back into the sitting room.

            “You, too.”

            I slipped my shoes back on and tried to open the door as quietly as possible. An empty feeling settled in my chest. Like I had just lost something that was as much a part of me as my heart or lungs. The person I’d grown up with and called my best friend since the day we first played together on the neighborhood green didn’t even know I was there. Tom didn’t know I was leaving. In the wake of Vanessa, I was simply forgotten.

            I made it halfway down the stairs before I heard feet coming after me. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that it was Tom. He looked slightly hurt that I hadn’t come to say goodbye myself.

            “Annie?” He sounded as hurt as he looked.

            I was getting good at faking a smile for him. “You were talking to Vanessa. I didn’t want to interrupt. I told Emma to tell you I left.”

            Tom leaned against the banister. “May I ask you something?”

            My stomach dropped into my toes. “Of course.”

            He ran his hand through his hair. Nervous. At a loss for words. “Would you be my Best? I’m going to ask Vanessa to marry me.”


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

December 1997

            I sat in front of the mirror while my mother twirled locks of my brown hair around the barrel of a curling iron. The clock on my dressing table said it was half past five. My winter formal started at eight, and Tom was supposed to pick me up at six. He’d come down from Berkshire just to take me.

            Mum pinned the curls into a crown at the top of my head, leaving a few pieces dangling over my shoulders. Then she smoothed makeup onto my skin, dusting my eyelids with bronze shadow and painting my lips a shiny peach. When she finally let me look in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.

            My dress was a pale pink with rhinestones around the empire waist. I remembered the feeling I had the first time I saw it in the shop. It looked just like a costume from one of those Jane Austen movies. And I thought it was perfect.

            The doorbell rang downstairs. Blood rushed into my cheeks, painting a blush over my cheekbones. Mum grinned and called for Daddy to answer the door while I finished getting ready. She put the finishing touches on my makeup and kissed my forehead. “You look beautiful, Annie.”

            I heard Daddy and Tom talking as I came downstairs. I got a peek at Tom and felt myself blush even brighter. He looked so dashing in his suit. I didn’t know about him, but it would be my first date.

            We were sixteen.

 

Present Day

            I pushed the small packet of paper across the table to Uncle Mark and Steven. I’d made two copies of the outline for the _Sherlock_ episode they wanted me to write and sat patiently while they looked it over. They scanned the typed words in silence before turning away from me and putting their heads together. A few hurried whispers and then I was the center of their attention.

            Uncle Mark beamed and put his fist beneath his chin. “Brilliant, Anthea,” he said. “Just brilliant.”

            Heat rushed into my cheeks. I smiled and took a sip from my water to keep myself from crying. “If the entire episode is half as good as this outline and synopsis, I think it’ll be one of our best episodes yet. Do you mind if I pass this along to Martin and Ben? Get their ideas on it?” Steven asked, jotting down notes on the margins.

            “Absolutely.” Nervousness ran through me. It was one thing for the stars of one of my favorite shows to see the finished, perfected script. It was quite another for them to see the bones of an idea. “I don’t even know if Sherlock would actually sit back and let this happen anyway. So if Ben thinks it’s utter shite, I can rework a new idea.”

            “Sherlock’s growing up a bit, Anthea. Emotionally speaking anyway,” Uncle Mark said, folding his copy and sticking it in the inside pocket of his coat. “Otherwise he’s still an adolescent with a brain too big for his sense.”

            I snickered. “Mycroft.”

            Steven laughed just as the waiter brought our meals. As we ate, we talked about where I saw the episode going. Uncle Mark and Steven gave me ideas and talked about what kind of case Sherlock and Watson would be solving. They had a slew of information on murders, forgeries, and any other crime I could come up with.

 

            Several days after that Sunday brunch with Uncle Mark, my mobile rang during my lunch hour. The number was one I didn’t recognize, but I answered anyway. For all I knew, it was one of my authors calling.

            “Anthea Gatiss,” I said, picking up a pen and moving a pad of paper over. My hand was poised to write.

            From the other end of the line came, “Benedict Cumberbatch.”

            I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “Hello! What can I do for you?”

            “I was wondering if you would have lunch with me sometime this week. Actually, with both of us. Martin and I, I mean.” He chuckled a bit, like it sounded strange for him to be asking a woman out to lunch.

            A flush of pleasure burst beneath my skin. As much as I loved his acting, and his media darling charm, I—as much as any other woman—had to admit that Benedict Cumberbatch was breathtakingly attractive. Very much like Tom. _That_ thought simmered me down a bit, but I smiled and picked up my date book.

            “How does tomorrow sound?” I asked. “I have a meeting not far from the Baker Street set actually. We could meet at that Italian place off the main road.”

            “Love Italian. Fantastic. Perfect,” Benedict replied. He actually started muttering like he was talking to himself. I snickered. “What?”

            “Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes.” I quickly hung up before my mouth could run faster than my brain.

            My mobile went off again a few minutes later, this time with a little buzzing beep. _It’s a text alert_ , I thought, grinning. _It means I’ve got a text._ I picked it up and swept my finger over the screen. The message was from Tom.

            “Vanessa wants to have lunch with me,” I read aloud. My heart suddenly felt sick. I wanted to cry. “Tomorrow.”

            _Can’t,_ I typed back quickly. _Already have a lunch date about a project. Sorry._

            Two minutes of silence, then that little buzzing beep again. _What kind of project?_

            Some deep rooted part of me warmed. Even with amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa in the picture, Tom still wanted to know what was going on with me. _I’m writing an episode for Uncle Mark. Sherlock._

            The response was instantaneous. _Fantastic! You’ll love Ben. He’s great._

            _I know. He’s my lunch date._ I typed it and sent it before I could stop myself, irrationally hoping it would draw some kind of emotion from Tom. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t hoping for jealousy.

            _Have fun! Love you, Annie!_

            I didn’t reply.

 

            La Piccola Roma was an Italian restaurant just a few blocks away from where Benedict and Martin were shooting scenes. From what Uncle Mark had told me, it was the last day they’d be in London for a while. Then they were all packing up and going back to Cardiff to finish the series’ first episode.

            I stepped inside and slid off my jacket. It was chilly outside, but remarkably toasty inside the restaurant. The hostess smiled and asked for my name. “Ah,” she said with a warm smile, “the other members of your party are already here.”

            Unsure where the nervousness in my knees was coming from, I followed her down the aisle to a table tucked near the back of the room. Martin sat with his back to the wall wearing a horrible jumper that had obviously come from the John Watson wardrobe trailer. He had his mobile pressed to his ear, but stood up and gave me a one-armed hug when I arrived. Benedict smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek before taking the coat from my arm and draping it over the back of the extra chair. Then he pulled my seat out and waited for me to take my place at the table.

            I couldn’t believe how giddy I was to see the two of them. Sherlock and Dr. Watson, and I was having lunch with them.   
            “We ordered drinks already. I hope soda is okay?” Benedict said, plucking a breadstick from the basket on the table.

            “Fine,” I replied, nervously crossing and uncrossing my legs beneath the table.

            The waitress came back with three glasses of what one sip told me was Dr. Pepper and asked for our orders. A quick glance at the menu and I decided on the sea food fettuccini. Benedict had the spaghetti. Martin ordered the vegetarian ravioli. No sooner had the waitress disappeared than Martin was leaning on his elbows on the table with an expectant look on his face.

            “So what happens?”

            I grinned. “You’ve read the synopsis. You know what happens.”  
            Benedict matched my smirk. “Yes, but we want to know what’s happening in that apparently magnificent brain of yours. How on earth did you come up with this one?”

            “For one thing, she watches the bloody show!” Martin laughed.

            “Oh, really?” Benedict sounded like it was the first he’d heard of the situation.

            I blushed horribly bright. I could probably set the whole restaurant ablaze with it. “Religiously. And multiple times in fact. I do believe I’ve seen all six episodes—plus that pilot—seven or eight times. Each.”

            “Dear God,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair. “You really _are_ one of them.”

            “Them?” I felt my mouth go dry.

            Martin pulled a breadstick from the plate. “A fan.” He tapped his knuckles on the table by Benedict’s elbow. “Says she loved _Hobbit_ , too.”

            Shrugging, I ignored the fact that I was obviously bright as a tomato. “I’m going with my brother to see _Into Darkness_ as well.”

            Benedict laughed and ran a hand through his thick curls. What was it with me and men with curly hair? “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you on set more then. Would a fan like you, with connections like you have, want to be there all the time?”

            “Takes away the excitement. And it wouldn’t matter. I’ve been trying to figure out how you survived that jump for the past year. Uncle Mark won’t tell me a damn thing.” I smiled, releasing a sigh of relief that they weren’t teasing me too badly.

            The two of them shared a look, silently communicating. Then Martin looked around the restaurant and nodded to Benedict, who turned to me with a mischievous grin. “Do you want to know?”

            My heart gave a little jump. “Don’t you dare,” I hissed, pointing my finger at the both of them. “Don’t you ruin this for me.”

            They erupted into laughter about the time our food arrived. We dug in, talking between bites about how Watson’s relationship with Mary would change the dynamic between him and Sherlock, or how Benedict saw Sherlock’s character changing that series. I asked a lot of questions about Benedict’s idea of Sherlock’s back-story, why he was the way he was and how he might react to certain situations. It was eye opening to listen to the things these two thought about their characters. And it gave me a lot of material to work with.

            “I’ve always loved Molly,” I said with a sigh. “She was brilliant, straight off.”

            Martin said, “Of course she was.” At the same time, Benedict put his fingers to his chin and said, “And why’s that?”

            “Because I know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t notice.” The words were out before I could call them back. _Stupid mouth! Stupid, stupid mouth!_

            An awkward silence descended on the table. Fortunately, Martin had the good grace to speak up. “So are you going to write a good bit for her then?”

            “Absolutely. You, sir,” I said, flicking my fingers at Benedict, “are going to get a run for your money. And you’ll just have to deal with it.”

            Playfully, Benedict leaned forward. “Make me.”

            I sat back, lifting my eyebrow at the absurdity of it all. “I’m the writer. I can make you do anything.”

            We laughed as we finished our meal and paid the check. Benedict and Martin insisted on covering it. We walked out to the street together. The sun was barely visible over the tops of the buildings, but the sky was a beautiful clear blue. It reminded me of Tom’s eyes, and I immediately felt guilty thinking about Tom when he was engaged to amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa. He wasn’t mine to think about anymore. _Had he ever been mine in the first place?_

            Martin hailed a taxi to take him back to set while Benedict and I stood on the sidewalk talking. I had a few minutes before I had to catch the next Tube back. Benedict smiled and put his hands in the pockets of his Sherlock coat. “So, Miss Writer, I’ve got a scene for you.”

            I shrugged into my jacket, pulling it around me to hold off the chill. “And what would that be?”

            Benedict stepped closer, his height looming over me. I was suddenly aware of the fact that the top three buttons of his shirt were undone. _Tom never does that_. “One where you have dinner with me.”


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Present Day

It was a warm night, so I took my laptop outside. The afternoon lunch with Benedict and Martin had put me in a bit of a good mood, so I thought I could handle the memories of the back garden. I walked right past the table where Tom and I sat to celebrate his Laurence Olivier award in 2008. Past the rose bushes we planted together when I moved in. I ignored the trampoline in the corner where we’d spent so many hours as kids and adults. My feet carried me to the swing seat where I spent most of my free time in the summer.

            I pushed the pillow against the arm of the swing and sat sideways, my laptop propped up on my thighs. One foot dragged through the grass to propel me back and forth. The motion lulled me into a relaxed state where the words poured out of my brain and onto the page without me really even thinking them. It came from a deep place inside me, from the way it felt for me to look at Tom and see him living his life without me. I thought about how Molly must feel, loving a man who not only didn’t notice her but was sometimes horribly cruel to her.

            How would it feel if Tom did that to me? If he was cruel and harsh? My throat choked up and a sob worked its way out of me. I thought of the times he’d brought Sian around, even though they hadn’t been more than friends since trying to date a few times. Of the time he took me to my winter formal and danced with Cherie Goghman—a girl who I actively despised because she was just terrible to people without money (people like me)—while I sat on the sidelines. Of the night he first mentioned Vanessa. Of the evening when I met her and watched her take my seat beside him and my chopsticks and my place in his heart and even his attention.

            Tom _was_ cruel. Horribly cruel, only he didn’t realize he was. It was my fault for never telling him how I felt, how much I loved him, how much I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at her. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d broken my heart a million times.

            Before I knew it, I had fifty pages. A heart-wrenching scene between Sherlock and Molly, a complete row between Sherlock and Watson about how Sherlock treated people, and a very gruesome murder in the St. Bart’s car park. It wasn’t ready, but it was enough to get some notes on. I quickly emailed what I had to Uncle Mark.

            I closed my laptop just before my mobile rang. Tom’s face showed on the screen. I wiped angrily at the tears on my cheeks as I answered. “Hey,” I said brightly, forcing joy into my voice to cover the crying.

            “How’d your lunch go?” Tom asked. There was music in the background and the sound of other voices.

            A little of the sadness in my chest released as I thought of sitting with Martin and Benedict, laughing and talking. It was nice getting to know them as people outside of the characters I loved so much. “Great. I’ve got a lot written already. It’s very rough, but I think it’ll finish up nicely.”

            “I don’t doubt it for a second.” His voice was warm and it made me wish for times gone by. For the way we were that night when he told me about his big break. It hurt even worse because he sounded like he was smiling. “Anything else happen today?”

            “No, why?”

            “Are you sure? Nothing else happened to you today?” His voice was teasing.

            I had a sudden pain in my chest at the realization that I had gotten so good at reading the emotions in his voice because I never saw him anymore. “I’m sure.”

            “Then Ben’s got to get his act together if you don’t remember that he asked you to dinner.” Tom laughed.

            “How do you know he asked me out?” Surprisingly, I felt violated. The thoughts running through me made me feel sick. _What right did he have to know about my life when he was slowly pushing me out of his?_ The words came out harsher than I intended.

            “We’re friends. We talk, Annie. He asked about Vanessa,” my stomach flipped over, “and I asked if he was seeing anyone. Ben told me about this amazing woman he was taking to dinner. Imagine my surprise when he said your name.”

            _Surprise_ , I thought. _You’re surprised that someone thinks I’m an amazing woman? Break me a little more, Tom._ But I didn’t say any of that. I tried to cling to the fact that Benedict called me amazing. I wanted to hold on to one good thing as my world continued to fall apart around my ears.

            In the background, I heard another voice. One with an exotic accent and a lilting tone. “Tom, I need your help.”

            Before he could say anything I said, “Go. I’ll talk to you later, Tom.”

 

November 2007

            The lights went up in the theatre, and I stood up with my program clutched between my fingers. There were tears in my eyes and on my cheeks as I filed out of the auditorium into the lobby with my brother Anthony at my side. He grinned and put his hand on the small of my back to guide me to a cushioned seat by the window.

            “That was Shakespeare?” Anthony said, waving his hand at the open doors of the auditorium. “I’ve never seen Shakespeare like that.”

            I beamed, so very proud of the performance Tom gave. The production of _Cymbeline_ was brilliant and Tom was fantastic. “You haven’t seen it done right then.”

            My brother and I sat in the lobby as people made their way out into the cold night. Several of the other actors were coming out of the dressing room, and I scanned each of them for Tom. The pride I felt at what Tom had just done on that stage was overwhelming. And I just had to tell him.

            “Annie!” Tom waved as he ducked out the stage door and crossed the lobby toward us. His hair was damp, and he was wearing his old Eton t-shirt beneath a heavy black jacket and a pair of loose-fitting jeans. He had a bag over his shoulder. “What’d you think?”

            I wobbled a bit in my heels as I closed the distance between us and hugged him tight. His large hands spanned my entire back. _When had he grown up so much?_ “Bloody fantastic. Smashing! Brilliant! Just…” At a loss for words, I squealed. “You were amazing, Tom.”

            Anthony clapped Tom hard on the shoulder as my best friend slid out of his jacket and draped it around me. Then he slung his arm around my shoulders as we walked out of the theatre beside my brother. We laughed as we stepped out into the frigid November night, huddling together to stay warm. I offered to give Tom his jacket back, but he just squeezed me closer and tucked his free hand deep in his pants pocket.

            “You’ve got to be colder than me,” he said, sparing a glance down at the dress I wore. It was a dark blue wrap, but it wasn’t very thick. The neckline dipped just low enough to show a hint of cleavage, but not so much that it was obscene. “You look nice. That dress is… smashing. Blue’s your color, Annie.”

            Anthony stepped away to phone Mum to tell her about the play. She wasn’t feeling well and hadn’t been able to make it, but she wanted to know everything about it. Tom and I stood close together. I shivered even in his overcoat. Tom tucked his arms beneath the jacket around my waist and pulled me tight against him. He was warm and smelled like cologne. Despite myself, I snuggled against his chest and tucked my folded arms against his stomach.

            “You really were brilliant, Tom,” I said, breathing in the scent of him. “I’ve never seen anything that wonderful in my life.”

            Tom’s face lit up with a wide smile. It made his eyes look so terribly blue and brought a tint to his cheeks. He leaned down, his face so very close to mine. I could feel his warm breath across my cheek. “I was really glad to look out and see you there tonight. I was so nervous until I saw you.”

            The air between us was suddenly too hot, but I didn’t want to move away. I looked up into his face, amazed at how much he’d changed since he came home from RADA. He’d matured and looked much more like a grown man than the baby faced boy I’d always known. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

            He nodded, his curls bouncing and his forehead bumping against mine. “Sometimes I imagine it’s just you. That you’re the only one watching.” Without warning, Tom kissed me lightly. Barely a brush of his lips on mine, but still my whole body tingled. He pressed another kiss to my forehead. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for you.”

            I wrapped my arms around Tom’s waist and hugged him tightly. Anthony hailed a taxi as he came back from talking to Mum. If he thought anything of the way Tom and I were embracing, he didn’t say anything of it. Instead he opened the door as the car slowed to a stop and waited for me to get in. I gave Tom a final squeeze and handed his jacket back to him.

            He waved from the curb as we climbed into the car. “Love you, Annie!”

            I draped myself out of the open window to back. “Love you, Tom!”


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Present Day

            The taxi pulled up outside my house at six o’clock precisely. I watched from the kitchen window as Benedict Cumberbatch unfolded his long frame from the back seat and walked—no, it was more of a strut—up my front walk. He wore a deep blue button-down, a black jacket, and a pair of black slacks that were perfectly fitted for him. I felt ashamed just looking.

            He rang the bell and stood with his hands in his pockets. I caught one last glimpse of him fiddling with his hair before I cut through the sitting room to pick up my purse. I’d picked a teal-blue dress that fell just above my knees and had sleeves that hugged my arms to just below my elbows. A small gold pendant rested just beneath the hollow of my throat. My hair was twisted up into a low, messy bun just below my right ear.

            I opened the door with a smile. Benedict grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You look stunning, Annie,” he said, holding out his hand for mine. I let him wrap his long, warm fingers around my palm.

            “Thank you,” I replied, feeling suddenly very shy. His hand was large, like Tom’s. _No. I’m not going to think of Tom. Not tonight._ “So where are we going?”

            Benedict gave my front door a tug after I turned the key, just to make sure it was locked. Then he led me down the walk toward the waiting taxi. “I was thinking something simple. You’ll see.”

            We slid into the back seat and Benedict handed the cabbie a slip of paper with an address on it. He sat close to me, his fingers threaded with mine. The cab was filled with the smell of his cologne and shampoo. He brushed his free hand through his curls, pushing them off his forehead.

            “How’s the script coming?” he asked, angling his body so he was facing me.

            I’d never really felt self-conscious in front of a man before. But something about Benedict made me feel shy. It was different than meeting him on the set or having lunch with him to discuss the script I was writing for the show. This was a date; he’d made that much blatantly obvious. The thought made heat flow up my cheeks.

            “I just sent off some preliminary scenes to Uncle Mark the other day. He’s sent me a few notes, but I haven’t gotten anything from Steven yet.” It was strange sitting there with him, lulled into a very relaxed state by the motion of the car. “And don’t ask. You can’t see the actual script until it’s absolutely finished.”

            He smiled, that wide grin that made him look devastatingly handsome and slightly boyish. Combined with his _Sherlock_ curls, it was an odd sort of emotional aphrodisiac. I had the sudden urge to put my head on his shoulder. Benedict’s fingers brushed against my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair back into the bun.

            “Was that conscious?” he asked, the tips of his fingers stroking lightly down the side of my neck. He seemed to like touching me, and I wasn’t about to tell him to stop. It felt nice.

            I turned my face toward him and found his impossible-shade-of-blue-green eyes on me. “Hmm?” Why was it that this man rendered me nearly speechless and completely relaxed at the same time?

            He pointed to my hair. “Molly wore hers like that in an episode once.”

            The words tumbled out. My fangirl was showing. “And Sherlock was a terrible cad because he complemented it just so he could use her.”

            “He’s getting better, you know.” Benedict settled back against the seat, drawing our entwined hands to rest on the top of his thigh. “You’d almost recognize him as a human these days.”

            “I always thought he was terribly human.” I smiled playfully. Then I found myself giving in. I tilted my head just so and let it rest on the curve of his broad shoulder. “That’s one of the reasons why I love him.”

            Benedict chuckled, and I heard the deep sound in every tissue of my body. It was deep and pleasant, a laugh entirely different from the one I was used to hearing from… _nope, not thinking about that._

            The taxi came off a roundabout into the city. The financial district was off to the left. I thought I could see the top of the Old Bailey in the distance. It was a beautiful place as evening fell. And it was incredibly nice to see it with someone as kind as Benedict.

            He surprised me by letting go of my hand and pulling me closer. His arm slid around my back, pressing me against his side. We sat thigh-to-thigh watching the city blur past. “So I assume you were jealous of Irene Adler then?”

            Jealousy was an emotion I didn’t want to deal with tonight. “I just don’t think she’s right for him. Intellectually, maybe, but she dehumanizes him in a lot of ways. I’ve always thought he needed someone like Molly. Someone to remind him of what it’s like to be normal. To be loved for who you are and not what you can do. She loves him whole-heartedly and without reservation, even though she knows he’s mean and vicious. And he either doesn’t see it or just doesn’t care.”

            His fingers pressed beneath my chin and tilted my head up. “Are you crying, Annie?”

            I took a deep breath and felt my bottom lip quiver. There were too many thoughts in my head. Molly and I were far too similar. And I was talking about things that were too close to home. Luckily, I was saved the embarrassment of having to answer by the cabbie pulling up outside a quiet restaurant. Benedict disentangled himself from me and stepped out onto the curb. Then he reached out his hand for me.

            It was small and intimate, and by the way he just walked right in and took a table it was a place he visited often. Several of the servers smiled and waved at him as they passed by our table. Benedict held out my chair and waited until I sat down before coming around beside me. Instead of taking the seat directly across the table, he took the one to my left. He even scooted it closer. Our wrists were touching, and it sent a horrible cascade of tingles down my entire body.

            “Benedict,” I said, reaching up to smooth flyaway strands of hair from my face. “It’s very sweet of you to invite me to dinner.”

            His grin was back, but this one was devilish and charming beyond measure. “It’s Ben,” he said, closing his fingers over mine. “And I have ulterior motives. I wanted to see you again. I want to see you often.”

            I blushed, knowing full well that it ran from the roots of my hair down past the neckline of my dress. I watched as Benedict—Ben’s—eyes followed the path of the blood beneath my skin. That only made it worse, because I thought about what he must be thinking. Was he thinking of what was under my dress? _I wish Tom would have thought… no, no, NO! Stop that._

            “I’m sorry.” Benedict took his hand away from mine and fiddled nervously with the silverware beside his plate. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

            My hand moved on its own. I didn’t tell it what to do, but once it was done, I didn’t argue with it. My fingers closed around Benedict’s wrist, circling over the point at the base of his thumb where his pulse thrummed beneath his skin. He flexed his wrist, his fingers sliding along my arm until we sat there looking at one another, each of us cradling the other’s wrist in our hands. “I’m glad you did. It’s nice to be wanted.”

            Benedict leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my cheek. His lips were warm and soft. The scent of him swirled around me, sending a warm feeling rushing through my body. He didn’t linger or force anything more. Instead, he sat back, his hand still stroking against the inside of my wrist. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, moving his hand so that his fingers threaded between mine. “I’d like to see you as often as I can.”

            Before I could respond, the waiter came by with a bottle of wine and menus. The menu was entirely Greek and, since Benedict was obviously a frequent customer, I let him order for both of us. He chose an appetizer of baked pita chips and spicy hummus dip and lamb gyros for entrees. Just saying it made my mouth water.

            “I thought you said we were doing something simple,” I teased, watching as he took a sip of his wine. The way his long fingers wrapped around the glass was mesmerizing.

            He smiled over the rim of his glass. “This _is_ simple. We’ll get out of here for less than thirty quid. And then we’re going to the Eye.”

            It was my turn to smile. Benedict was one of the most popular actors in all of Britain. He probably had enough money to go on a very nice date. Instead, he’d chosen to do something incredibly personal and actually very simple. The entire night looked as if it would be normal.

            Our food came not long after that. It was entertaining to watch him eat. He was so graceful, even when he was taking obscenely large bites of his lamb wrap. I think I spent half of dinner dissolved in giggles. In between bites, he asked about my job. He wanted to know about working at a publishing house and how I liked my job. He thought it was incredibly interesting that I eventually wanted to write my own novel.

            After dinner—of which there were absolutely no leftovers—Benedict reached for my hand and drew me out to the darkening streets. It felt as if we’d only been together for a few minutes, but when I glanced at his watch I saw we’d been at dinner for nearly two hours. He hailed a taxi and slid in beside me.

            “The Eye,” he said, leaning into the corner of the seat. Without preamble, he tugged me closer until I was nestled against his side. His fingers pressed against my hip. “Do I smell like Greek food?”

            “No,” I replied. “You smell like books and cologne.”

            “I hope that’s a good combination.” I felt his lips against my hair. He’d rested his cheek atop my head.

            “Mmm hmmm.” There was something about being in the car with him, about listening to the beat of his heart beneath my ear, that put me into a state I didn’t understand. But I couldn’t deny that I liked it.

 

            The London Eye stood tall and shining against the banks of the Thames. It was magical as the lights came up as darkness crawled over the city. Its turn was slow, a full half hour to go all the way around, but it was the best view of London to be had. The pods had seats around one edge and a place to stand on the other side. Several people could fit in each one comfortably.

            Benedict walked up to the head of the queue and checked in. He glanced sideways at me with his oh-so-interesting-blue eyes and smirked as I stood at the base of the Ferris wheel with my head tilted back. It was so beautiful, especially in the dusk. I couldn’t wait to get inside and see all of London spread out at my feet.

            We only had to wait for fifteen minutes before they called for us to board. There were at least a dozen other people in our pod, but the second we stepped inside it was as if no one else was there. His hand on the base of my spine, he guided me over to the far side to watch the Thames splashing against the shores. It was almost like we were floating on the river. It was amazingly beautiful.

            Benedict stood behind me, his arms around my waist and my chest pressed against his back. He was so very tall, towering head and shoulders above me even in my heels. The world swirled away beneath us. My stomach swayed as we moved slowly up into the sky, stopping every little bit as people boarded the pods below us. The lights of London trailed away into the distance. Big Ben chimed the hour. The silvery grey ribbon of the River Thames spiraled beneath Tower Bridge and cut through the center of the old city. Light reflected from the lights of the skyscrapers in the financial district.

            It was breathtaking.

            Giddiness spread through me as we reached the apex of the rise. I was hundreds of feet above the city I loved with someone who was genuinely kind… someone who noticed me and thought I was worth his attention. My head tilted back against Benedict’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” I sighed.

            The lights in the pod dimmed, making the glittering face of the city stand out all the brighter. “Yes, it is,” Benedict said softly.

            When I looked at the reflection in the window, he wasn’t looking at the city.

            He was looking at me.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

August 1994

            Tom and I sat on the grass just across the street from our homes. The neighborhood green was filled with children playing as the last day of the summer holidays wound to a close. Tomorrow, we’d be going back to school. Some of us—like my brother Anthony and I—would be going off to our first day at the local public college. Others—like Tom and his sister Sarah—would be going off to boarding schools that were the fast track to a prestigious university. We had one last day together. Then we wouldn’t see one another until the Christmas hols.

            We stretched out our legs in an attempt to gather up some of the weak sunlight. It had rained for the past three days, and we were desperate for some fresh air before being stuffed back into classrooms. Tom’s blond hair looked strange without the curls he’d sported since I could remember. He’d cut it for Eton. He looked so odd, like he wasn’t the same person. There was something sad about his eyes and the downward curve of his mouth.

            “What’s wrong, Tom?” I asked, turning my face up to the sky. I had just turned thirteen in July and was incredibly proud of the fact that I was starting to look like a grown up. Part of me wondered if Tom would notice. He _was_ a boy, after all. And boys noticed those things, didn’t they?

            He kept his eyes on the grass between his knees. He plucked great handfuls of it up and ripped each blade into pieces before starting all over again. For the first time, I noticed how pretty his hands were. I was a girl. It was time I started noticing those things. I looked over at my best friend, at the face I knew as well as my own. I could tell you there was a scar at the left-hand corner of his lip where he’d gotten hit by a cricket bat last summer at the sports centre. I could tell you all about the freckles that speckled his nose when he spent too long at sport in the summertime.

            “It’s bad, Annie,” he said softly, thrusting the grass salad he’d made away from him. He put his head down, making his shoulders slump. “Very bad.”

            I straightened up, folded my legs and put my head against Tom’s arm. “Are they fighting again?”

            He shook his head, sadness seeming to weigh him down. I tucked my arm around his bicep. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Not fighting is good.”

            Tom looked over at me, and there were tears in his crystal blue eyes. They brimmed up and spilled over until they poured down his face. He bit hard into his bottom lip and threw his arms around me, hugging me tight. “Mum says Dad’s leaving. They’re getting a divorce.”

            _Divorce_. The word bowled into me until I forgot how to speak. It was a word no one wanted to hear. I thought of Kyla Hedgecock and how her parents got a divorce last year. She looked sad all the time. People made fun of her because her mum wasn’t around anymore. I didn’t want anyone to make fun of Tom. I’d punch them square in the nose if they tried.

            I squeezed him tight. At thirteen, I wanted to wipe all the pain out of him and make it better. He was my best friend, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt. Tom was so wonderful, and his parents were like second parents to me and to my brother. But I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have the two people who were supposed to protect and support you couldn’t even get along.

            “Want to stay at my house tonight?” I said into his hair. “Mum can make sure you’re up in time to leave.”

            Tom nodded, his face buried against my neck and his tears making my skin wet. My eyes stung. I wanted to cry, too. He hugged me so tight that it felt like my ribs were going to break, but I didn’t stop him. This was what I was here for. My best friend in the whole entire world needed me, and I’d let him hug me until I couldn’t breathe if that’s what he needed to feel better.

            At last, he let me go and we lay back on the grass side-by-side. Our hands found each other and we clutched at each other like we were the last survivors on a capsizing ship. “I’m not going anywhere, Tom. You’re stuck with me forever.”

            “Forever?” he said, his voice thick with sadness. His voice had just started to break, but it wasn’t funny now. His fingers were so tight on mine that it hurt.

            “Forever,” I replied firmly.

            Tom put his head against mine. He wiped angrily at the tears staining his cheeks. “Love you, Annie.”

            “Love you, Tom.” I turned and kissed his forehead. It was hot, like he had a fever. “Always.”

 

Present Day

            The rain was beating against my windows. It had been a month since Tom came home from California and told me he was in love. Three weeks since I spent the evening watching London turn beneath my feet from the top of the London Eye. I’d spent nearly every weekday evening at home with my computer and a stack of manuscript pages, meeting deadlines for my authors and working on the script for _Sherlock_.

            On the weekends, though, I was hardly ever home. Instead of sitting home alone and thinking about Tom and amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa, I took the train to Cardiff. It was fun to spend more time with Uncle Mark and I got to meet Martin’s partner, Amanda, and their two kids when they came down for a visit as well. The four of us went out to lunch at a local burger place while Benedict and Martin were on set.

            I came home that Sunday, three weeks after my first date with Benedict, and found Tom sitting in front of my house. He popped out of his car at the same time I climbed out of mine. His hair was a dark, gingery brown—he must have dyed it for a new project. At least he looked as if he’d gained a bit of weight.

            “Annie!” he said, coming around the front of the cars and taking my overnight bag from my shoulder before giving me a quick squeeze. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

            I pulled my phone out of my pocket and pressed the home button. Nothing happened. “It must have died on the train. I forgot to pack my charger.”

            Tom led the way to the house, taking the keys from my hand so he could unlock the front door. He sat my bag in the chair just inside the sitting room. After having barely seen him in almost a month, he looked so out of place in my house. I pulled the post out of the box by the door and flipped through it as I shut the door behind me.

            The kitchen light was on, and Tom was rummaging through the fridge for something to drink. I was surprised by the irritation that rushed through me at the thought of him walking through my home like he belonged there. Things had changed so much, even though Tom didn’t see it.

            “Where were you?” he asked, popping the top off a bottle of Guinness as he sat on the sofa. “I came by yesterday afternoon and you were gone.”

            I pulled my suitcase out of the chair and sat down, tucking my feet beneath me. I didn’t feel like sitting next to him. “Cardiff. I went to talk to Uncle Mark and Steven about the episode. And I wanted to see Ben.”

            Tom smiled. “That’s why he wasn’t answering my calls this weekend. He was with you.”

            There was no stopping the blush burning up my neck. “You talk to him a lot?”

            “Every day nearly. He was quite surprised to find out that we knew each other.” Tom leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You never told him we were friends?”

            “It never came up, Tom.”

            The corners of his mouth tipped down, almost like he was sad. It reminded me of the look on his face when he told me about his parent’s divorce. “Why wouldn’t you tell the man you’re seeing about your best friend? Especially if they knew each other.”

            Frustration turned my blood to acid. “Well, you didn’t tell me about Vanessa.” The words spilled out of me with venom I didn’t know I had. I suddenly wanted to yell and scream at him for leaving me behind, for choosing someone else over me, for flaunting her in front of me when it was painfully obvious that I loved him.

            “What—”

            I waved my hand to shut him up. “Listen, I’m sorry. It’s was a long train ride. I’m tired. I really just want to take a bath and go to bed.”

            Tom looked slightly hurt as he sat his beer on the table and stood up. But he hitched a smile on his face and gave me a hug. I felt guilty that my first thought was terribly mean. _Good. It’s about time you knew how it feels._

            I walked him to the door and gave him one more hug before throwing back the bolt and opening the door. I nearly jumped when I saw Benedict standing on the front step, a messenger bag strapped over his chest. His hand was raised, finger pointed to press the buzzer.

            “Ben,” I said, surprised. Some of the frustration I felt with Tom seemed to leech out of me into the floor. I found myself smiling. “What are you doing here?”

            Benedict’s face lit up when he saw me. He stepped across the threshold and pulled me into his arms, hugging me tight against his chest. His lips were warm and soft, pressing against mine as his tongue slid over my bottom lip. I fought back a sigh as he pulled away. “I wanted to surprise you. Production told us today that we’ve got a break for a few days while they get the pre-production ready for the next episode.”

            He kissed me again, more softly this time. It was then that he first noticed I had company. “Tom! How are you?”

            They hugged, laughing in that way male companions have. They exchanged a few pleasantries before Tom begged away, saying he had to be up early for a meeting the next day. As Benedict went into the sitting room to drop his bag, I watched Tom climb into his car. I shut the door and stood up on my toes to look out the peephole. Tom sat in my drive for several minutes, hands clenched on the steering wheel, eyes staring straight ahead. Finally, he ran his hand through his hair and drove away.

            I stepped into my sitting room to see Benedict looking at the photographs on the mantelpiece. He picked up a snapshot of Tom and me standing on the stairs at my house before my winter formal. Tom stood beside me, his arm tossed around my shoulders, a wide smile on his youthfully round face. We both grinned at the camera.

            “You’ve known Tom for a while, haven’t you?” Benedict asked, glancing over his shoulder as he replaced the frame. He picked up another of the four of us—me, Tom, Sarah, and Emma—sitting around a table raising pints toward the camera. I had a tiara perched on my blue-streaked hair that said _birthday girl_.

            I tried not to look at the pictures as I crossed the room. “Since we were six. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember.” I picked up Tom’s half-empty beer and carried it into the kitchen to pour it down the sink. I tossed the bottle in the garbage without looking.

            Benedict’s footsteps sounded behind me as he came around the kitchen island. There was a crease between his eyebrows as he looked down at me. It still surprised me every time we stood next to each other that he was so tall. My head fit perfectly just below his collarbones. “Annie…” His voice was low, cautious. Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say anything more. “Did something happen between you and Tom?”

            I looked up at him even though my brain told me to keep my mouth shut and walk away. My eyes burned, and a tear streaked over my cheek. I rubbed it away and cleared my throat. “No.” My voice sounded like I’d chewed gravel for dinner.

            He took a few steps away and leaned against the edge of the sink. The distance between us felt as if it stretched for miles. “Did you want it to?”

            The way he asked was slightly heartbreaking. He sounded sad and it broke my heart. I picked up a damp towel and began scrubbing the counters as if my life depended on it. “It doesn’t matter, Ben. It won’t happen, and it probably never would have. What’s the point of thinking about it?”

            Benedict moved beside me. I could feel the warmth coming off his body. One of his hands pressed against my back, just beneath my shoulder blade. The other tugged the towel from my fingers. “I think I understand why you like Molly, why you understand her. Annie, was I interrupting something tonight?”  
            “No!” I shouted, turning toward him. His hands slipped from my body as the tears came, burning paths like fire over my skin. “No! I didn’t want him here. He was just here when I got off the train and he asked me why I didn’t tell you about him and it made me so angry because of that stupid woman who’s so bloody perfect and I’m not and I hate her! I hate her, and I’m a horrible friend!”

            The words ran out of me in a rush, tumbling over my tongue and spilling into the air like an oil slick. It felt like my knees were about to give out. I grabbed the edge of the counter and held on for dear life. My chest ached like someone was sitting on me.

            “You are fantastic, Anthea Gatiss. Absolutely brilliant.” Benedict touched the backs of his fingers against my cheek, wiping away the tears as fast as they came. “Tom’s had you for twenty-five years, and if he didn’t see how wonderful you were in all that time, he doesn’t deserve you. He’s a good man, but I’m not happy with him now. He’s hurt you.”

            I closed my eyes and threw myself against Benedict’s chest. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “He wants me to be his Best and he’s going to marry her. Di and Em don’t like her either. They want us to be together, but I can’t stand him breaking my heart anymore. He’s the most important person in the world and I love him and I always will but he doesn’t know I exist anymore. He looks right through me.”

            As soon as the words were out, I wished I could pull them back in. It was one thing to have those thoughts tumbling around in my brain. But I couldn’t believe I actually let them out. And to Benedict, no less.

            “Oh, God,” I moaned, pressing my fists tight against my mouth to keep any other unwanted truths from joining the world. “You must hate me. I’m so sorry.”

            I felt his breath against my hair and his heart beating beneath my cheek. “Don’t ever be sorry. It isn’t your fault.” He kissed the top of my head. “If there’s one thing I have an abundance of, it’s patience. I’m in no rush.”

            “Don’t,” I whimpered, clutching at his shirt. “Don’t be so damn charming. Please. Not when I just told you I’m in love with another man. Your friend. _My_ friend.”

            Benedict tipped my face up toward his. “I have every intention of falling in love with you, Annie. And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you fall in love with me, too. I don’t care how long it takes. So let me be a charming bastard, yeah? It’s good practice.” He smiled slightly just before brushing his lips over mine. It was a hesitant touch, brief and light. It didn’t demand anything or ask for more than I could give.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

July 1999

            “Happy birthday, Anthea,” Sarah said, kissing my cheek as she slid into the booth beside me. She was the only one who ever called me by my full name. Everyone else had called me Annie since I was eight. “Where are my wayward brother and sister?”

            I pointed to the bar where Tom and Emma stood waiting for our drinks. It was my eighteenth birthday and we were all together to celebrate. Sarah shrugged out of her jacket and balled it up in the corner of the booth. Her hair was a dark, dirty brown, and she had bright blue eyes. She had a warm smile just like her brother. Grinning, Sarah picked a lock of hair from my shoulder, holding it up so I could see the bright streaks of blue dye running through it.

            “What on earth possessed you to do this?”

            I shrugged. “I thought it would look cool. Tom told me it looked pretty badass.”

            “Tom wouldn’t know badass if it walked up and introduced itself.” Sarah laughed and tried to look innocent as her brother and sister came over with four glasses. Three pints and a soda. Little Emma was too young to drink in public.

            Sarah hugged Tom and Emma as they sat down. Once we were all together, Emma reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic tiara that was a garish glittering purple with silver trim. _Happy birthday_ was written across it in sequins. It even had purple faux feathers glued to the sides.

            Tom chuckled and positioned it on top of my head. “Princess for a night, Annie,” he said, bowing his head.

            I snorted. “If I’m a princess, then where the hell’s Wills? Because Harry’s too young for me.”

            “You know, I—” Tom began.

            We girls waved him off, sipping our drinks. “We know. We know. You met him at Eton. We fully expect you to be Sir Thomas before long.”

            Our table devolved into laughter and giggles as we dug into a huge plate of ice cream covered brownies to celebrate. I pulled out my camera and handed it to Tom, who had ridiculously long arms. He’d be able to get us all in the shot. The flash blinded us, and the memory would last forever.

            After three pints, Tom was laughing and tucking his arm around my shoulder. He kept touching my face or putting his hand on my knee. Music blasted through the speakers in the pub, and Tom decided he wanted to play darts. We made our way out of the booth and across the crowded room to the dartboard in the corner. Tom snatched up the collection of blue and red projectiles and held one up between his finger and thumb.

            “Know how to play?” he asked, giving me a cheeky grin.

            “Don’t you?” I retorted, plucking the dart from his hand and turning toward the board. My vision was slightly unsteady, but I took a minute to focus. Then I took aim and let the dart fly. It slammed into the scarred wood at least eight inches off to the left and above the board. I giggled. “Oops.”

            Tom laughed and stepped behind me. His body was pressed close to me as he put another dart in my hand. He lined up the shot, took hold of my hand in his, and pushed the dart through the air. It struck with a dull _thump_ four inches off center of the board. He whooped, the sound echoing in my ear.

            He decided that I needed a proper lesion in darts, so he stayed behind me, talking me through how to hold and throw each one. Most of my shots missed because I was too distracted by the heat of his chest burning into my back. His fingers trailing up and down my arm sent shivers up my spine. When he wasn’t guiding my shot, Tom kept his hands splayed over my hips.

            My face turned bright red when I realized I could feel him getting hard against my ass. It was embarrassing and, surprisingly, kind of hot. Was Tom getting turned on being close to me? Or was it just because he was drunk?

            We stumbled back across the pub laughing and wrapped up together. Tom slid into the booth and pulled me down beside him. His hand pressed against my upper thigh, sending fire into my blood. I didn’t know what to do, so I ordered another beer.

            It was almost one when we spilled onto the street to walk to the nearest Tube station. Sarah and Emma walked in front of Tom and me, the two sisters whispering together about something. Tom had his jacket around me and his hand tucked into the back pocket of my jeans. His Eton shirt stretched across his newly broad shoulders and fluttered against his stomach. He kept looking at me as we walked, giving me this mischievous grin.

            We tapped our Oyster cards and waited for the right train. Tom drew me over to the wall and leaned back against it, pulling me forward against him. His hands slid under the edge of my t-shirt so that his thumbs stroked over my skin. Things around me went fuzzy. He tugged me closer, my hips pressed against his, and let his lips fall against mine. It was a much better kiss than the one under the stands when we were younger.

            Tom wrapped one hand around my neck to hold me against him. His lips parted against mine, his tongue darting out to lick the seam of my mouth. A moan tore through my throat as I kissed him back, my hands fisting tight in Tom’s hair. His mouth traveled up to my ear. His breath was hot, almost as hot as my skin beneath his touch.

            “I love you, Annie,” he whispered, biting my earlobe gently.

 

            He didn’t remember a thing the next morning.

 

Present Day

            “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, looking over at Benedict in the driver’s seat. We had been seeing each other for three months, but it felt like both a lot longer and a lot less time. I smiled at the sight of him in a forest green button down with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. I could see his collarbones and felt my mouth water. “You don’t have to go.”

            Benedict reached over and took my hand, applying gentle pressure in reassurance. “I want to be with you. And if you go to this party, then I’m coming with you.”

            We were on our way to Tom and amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa’s engagement party. Since I’d agreed to be Tom’s Best at the wedding, I didn’t have any other option than to go. My stomach turned over at the thought of having to make nice with her, but it was easier to face knowing Benedict was going to be there beside me.

            I pressed the back of his hand to my lips and kissed it. “Thank you, Ben. For everything.”

            He glanced over, his what-color-are-you-blue eyes brightening as they roved over my face. Color rode high on his cheekbones. “My pleasure, my love.”

            The party was being held at an old manor that had been converted into a sort of country club. Apparently Vanessa’s parents belonged to it. Just the thought of how much money was going to be running around that place made me dizzy. I was middle class at best, always had been, always would be. I’d done my best to look the part. I wore a mint green cocktail-style dress with a looping chain of pearls around my neck. My hair draped against my shoulders in loose waves.

            A valet took the car when we arrived. Benedict took my hand in his and kissed the side of my head as we went through the front doors of the manor. People milled around with glasses of champagne and small plates of finger foods. I looked around the room, trying to find Diane, Sarah, or Emma. Unfortunately, I spotted _her_ first.

            Benedict gave me a small nudge and jerked his head in her direction. “That her?” I nodded, taking a deep breath. He scoffed. “Tom’s an idiot.”

            We crossed the room, taking a glass of champagne from the roving waiters as we went. Vanessa looked me up and down as I came closer, and then switched her attention to Benedict. From what I could see, she quickly dismissed the both of us as beneath her attention.

            “It’s a lovely party, Vanessa,” I said, forcing myself to be chipper. “Congratulations.”

            The corner of her full lips twitched. “Thank you. I’m afraid Tom is busy at the moment. You’ll just have to… occupy yourself until he’s ready to take a trip down memory lane.” Then she turned and walked away.

            I pressed my lips together and clutched the glass so tightly I thought it would shatter. Benedict put his hand on my back and rubbed it up and down slowly. He cleared his throat, cocked his head to the side, and mumbled under his breath. “Well, she’s a bitch.”

            To my surprise, I snickered. “Let’s dance,” he said, taking a deep drink of his champagne. I followed suit and let him lead me out onto the dance floor.

            Benedict settled one hand on my spine just above the curve of my hips and held my hand against his heart with the other. He kept me close, his cheek resting against the top of my head. I let the scent of his cologne and the softness of his shirt bleed into me and untwist the knots in my body. My heart was so terribly confused. There I was, standing at my best friend’s engagement party, nearly consumed with jealousy that he was marrying someone else instead of me. But I was also in the arms of a man who was kind, intelligent, and loving. And I loved being there.

            I loved him.

            I loved Ben.

            “Mind if I cut in?” said an all-too familiar voice. I lifted my head from Benedict’s chest and saw Tom standing a few feet away. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, making him look so very boyish. It put a bit of a damper on the dashing suit he was wearing.

            Benedict looked down at me, his eyes asking what I wanted him to do. I blinked and gave a sharp nod to let him know it was okay. He leaned down and kissed me softly before handing me over to Tom. “I’ll be just outside,” he said, pulling his mobile from his pocket. “I need to have a word with Mark about the new episode anyway.”

            My heart fluttered at the beaming smile he gave me. Pre-production for my episode of _Sherlock_ began next week. I was taking some time off work to stay in Cardiff to help oversee shooting. And to spend as much time as possible with Benedict.

            Tom stepped in to the place Benedict vacated, one hand on my back and the other holding mine gently. “You look great, Annie,” Tom said, smiling. His lips were slightly hidden beneath the goatee he was growing. I always liked him with a beard. It looked particularly rakish and charming on him. “Really great.”

            “Thanks. So do you. Being engaged suits you,” I replied softly. It was difficult to keep my mind on what mattered when Tom had me in his arms. My thoughts conjured up images I had no business thinking.

            A faraway look spread over his features, and Tom looked into nothingness over my shoulder for a long moment before he spoke. “I suppose it does.” His voice was happy, but the smile looked forced.

            _Wishful thinking._

            “Are you happy?” he asked suddenly, looking down at me with a serious expression. “With Ben?”

            I didn’t even need to think. “Yes. He makes me happy.”

            “Good.” Tom kissed my cheek and stepped out of the dance. “I’m glad.”

            _Strange_ , I thought as he walked back toward amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa. _He doesn’t look very glad._


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Present Day

            “Home away from home,” Benedict said, dropping my bags in the sitting room of his flat in Cardiff. It was smallish, but cozy and very lived in. There were books strewn on nearly every surface and scripts in a pile on the kitchen counter. I counted four before sweeping my gaze through the rest of the flat.

            A small kitchen sat off to the left with a tiny dining area attached. The sitting room took up most of the central space. A set of French doors opened up onto a narrow balcony overlooking the street. Benedict had a sofa, a love seat, and several chairs around an end table. A flat screen television sat on a small entertainment center against the wall. Off to the right was the bedroom, which wasn’t much larger than the sitting room. A large sleigh bed dominated the middle of the room, flanked on either side by nightstands. The bathroom was off the bedroom and had a deep bathtub and a glassed in shower stall.

            “Is this going to be okay?” he asked, standing behind me as I peered in the doorway of the bedroom. His hands slid around my waist, and his cheek stroked against mine. His voice was heavy and deep in my ears.

            A smile worked its way onto my lips. “It’ll be fantastic.”

 

            We cooked dinner together that night. My years of learning one dish after another to please Tom came in handy as I tried to make something to please Benedict. In the end, we settled for homemade fish and chips with chocolate chip cookies for dessert. We ignored the dining table in favor of the sofa in order to eat. He clicked on the television and flipped through the channels until he found something passable. I nearly laughed when he settled on _The Jeremy Kyle Show_.

            “Are you joking?” I asked, tearing a piece of fish and popping it into my mouth.

            Benedict grinned. “I like to see if I can figure out who’s lying or who the father is. My record is terrible, though.”

            “Of course,” I giggled, “you have to look at the turn-ups on the jeans.”

            He laughed, and the rich sound washed over me until it felt like sinking into a warm bath.

            After dinner, Benedict took his script for the new episode out onto the balcony while I took a shower. I let the water cascade over me, washing away the weariness of the train ride from London and the sadness from losing Tom from my life. The closer he got to Vanessa and the higher his star rose, the less he thought of me and the further behind I fell. Part of me hated that I couldn’t keep my promise to him from all those years ago.

            _Forever_.

            But now I had Benedict. He loved me, he was kind to me, and he spent nearly every free moment with me. When Benedict looked at me, it was like everyone else in the world just melted away. No one existed for him but me, and it made me feel like the most important being in the universe.

            I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a thick towel. Squeezing the water out of my dripping hair with another towel, I unzipped my suitcase and searched through it for something to sleep in. I’d made certain when I packed to leave that damned Eton t-shirt in the bottom drawer at home. My attention was so focused on the task that I didn’t hear Benedict come into the bedroom.

            He stepped up behind me, settling his hands on the curve of my hips just above where they met my thighs. Two inches lower and he’d be touching bare skin. He carried the crisp scent of outside overlaid against his natural scent. The faint hint of cologne wafted from the open collar of his shirt.

            “I couldn’t concentrate,” he whispered, the softness of his lips tracing the curve of my ear and the column of my throat.

            “Why not?” I asked, my breath hitching as he pulled my hips back. I could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against me.

            His teeth scraped along the tender spot where neck and shoulder met. Then he soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue. “Because I was thinking about this.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing me tighter against his hips. “And this.”

            I sighed, my head falling back against his shoulder. He kissed the front of my throat before drawing his hands up my stomach. His long fingers hooked into the top of the towel and slowly stripped it away. It stroked against my skin, setting every nerve ending ablaze, as he drew it between our bodies and tossed it to the floor.

            My fingers burrowed into the dark curls at the nape of Benedict’s neck. His hands moved light-fingered strokes over my ribs and across my stomach. Heat pooled between my thighs, and my heart hammered in my chest. Benedict slid his hands upward, cupping my breasts in both palms. He took my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, squeezing and rolling them gently. My breath quickened as I turned my head, catching his mouth with mine. His tongue flicked against my lips, teased my mouth open and drew my tongue out to dance with his. His hips ground gently against my ass. His hands never stopped teasing my breasts.

            “Ben,” I whispered as we broke apart. I turned in his arms and let my fingers trail down the line of his throat to the open collar of his shirt. I stood on my toes to press my lips and tongue against the freckle beside his Adam’s apple while my hands worked to release the buttons keeping his shirt closed. His skin was pale and perfect. Beautiful. “I… I love you.”

            The hands roaming down my back and over the curve of my ass stilled their movement. He stared down at me for a long moment before crushing his mouth to mine, his kiss urgent and demanding. I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and leaned up to wrap my arms around his neck. I felt his hands hook around my thighs, and then he was lifting me off the ground. My legs locked around his hips. His hard cock—restrained by his trousers—pressed against my core, making me shiver.

            “I love you,” I whispered again when I was able to get my breath.

            Benedict slid his lips and tongue down my throat and over the tops of my breasts. He took one nipple in his mouth, licking his tongue across it, nipping with sharp teeth and soothing with gentle sucking. My head fell back as he switched from one breast to the other. Before I knew it, Benedict was lowering me to the bed, his body settled over mine.

            He looked down at me with his oh-so-blue-blue eyes and brushed the tip of my nose with his. “You’re an amazing woman, Anthea.” Benedict sat up on his knees, working at the button of his trousers and tugging down the zipper. He pulled them over his hips and kicked them to the floor along with his underwear. His cock was thick and shining with precum. My fingers itched to touch him.

            The tip of his cock pushed against my clit as he leaned over me, supporting himself on his hands. He kissed my lips softly, then my cheekbones up to my ear, where he nipped and sucked my earlobe until I was panting against his neck.

“I,” he murmured, his breath stifling hot against my flushed skin.

“Love,” he hummed, tracing his mouth over my throat and across my shoulders. His tongue licked the inner curves of my breasts and blazed a trail to my navel.

“You,” he growled, sinking his teeth gently into the tender skin on the inside of my thighs.

My hips twisted up off the bed as he sank one long finger slowly inside me. I thought my eyes were going to roll back the pleasure was so great. He pumped his finger in and out of me slowly, the fingers of his other hand exposing my clit to the onslaught of his lips, teeth and tongue. Benedict added a second finger as his mouth closed over my tender flesh, rolling his tongue over the sensitive nub.

I vibrated with wanton pleasure as he hummed low in his throat, pumping a third finger into me slowly. My toes curled against the bed, pushing my hips up into the air, grinding them against his mouth and hand. The orgasm that thrummed through me was like the steady, throbbing bass of a club tune.

Benedict sucked one of his fingers into his mouth as he crawled back up my body. His pupils were dilated until I could barely see any of that impossible-color-blue. He bit down on his bottom lip as he nestled his body into the juncture of my thighs. “Lift your knees, love,” he purred, drawing one of my legs up until my knee was bent. He hooked my calf over his back.

His eyes locked on mine as he flexed his hips forward, pressing himself into me, filling me inch by glorious inch. When at last he was sheathed to the hilt, he dropped his forehead to mine. His breath panted against my face. I planted my other foot against the mattress, lifting my hips, begging him to move, needing friction, needing more…

With a smooth move, Benedict hooked his arm beneath my leg, opening me to him. He pulled back, nearly leaving me empty and pleading, before thrusting slowly back inside. I groaned and threw my head back. It felt as if he was everywhere, over, around, and inside me. He was touching places I didn’t know existed. His hips fell into a rhythm, meeting mine until he was as deep as he could go.

“Open your eyes,” he grunted softly. “Look at me, Annie.”

I looked up at him, watching a thousand emotions and sensations dance over his features. He thrust faster, harder. His lips latched around my nipple, suckling and biting gently. My nails dug into his biceps. “Ben… please… just… harder…” He bucked his hips, making me yelp in all-consuming pleasure. “Right there!”

His thumb stroked over my clit and sent me over the edge. My orgasm was powerful and blinding. My entire body tightened and released in an undulating wave of sensation. Benedict grunted, my body clutching his cock so tight he couldn’t move. He growled against my chest. “Fuck me, woman. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

He pulled away from me and piled the pillows at the head of the bed. He sat back against them and crooked his finger at me. I subconsciously licked my lips as I crawled up the bed toward him. My fingertips touched the jutting, hard silk of his cock as my lips parted around him. His breath whooshed out in a hiss as I worked my mouth up and down his shaft, my tongue licking the taste of my climax from his skin. Benedict clenched his fists at the effort to stop himself from thrusting up into my mouth.

“Mmm, come here, woman,” he said firmly, his fingers threading gently into my hair. He pulled me up so that I straddled his lap. Guiding his cock to my entrance, he thrust up just as I sank my hips down.

A scream tumbled past my lips. Benedict’s hands gripped my hips as he set the pace, guiding me to ride him. He was so close. Everywhere. Everything. My hands gripped the headboard as he held my mouth against his. His breath came more rapidly, a series of pants and grunts as his movement became more erratic. He gripped my hips tight enough to leave bruises and slammed my body down just as he pumped his cock up.

My name burned in the air as he came, hot and deep inside me. His thumb pressed against my clit once more, sending me over the edge of a shivering orgasm that left me breathless. I fell against Benedict’s chest and licked at the sweat against his collarbones.

“I love you,” he said into the quiet room.

 

For the first time in years, I didn’t think about that night on the Tube platform. I didn’t worry about the things that happened that Tom would never remember.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Present Day

            “You observe, Sherlock, but you don’t see anything,” Molly said, her voice firm but her eyes glistening with tears. She stood her ground inside the St. Bart’s medical lab while Sherlock sat by his microscope, a dumbfounded expression on his face. His brows drew together, and he looked at Molly Hooper as if he’d never seen her before. “You never see the things right in front of your face.”

            Sherlock looked her up and down. His face smoothed to impassiveness. “You’re crying, Molly. Why are you crying?”

            She slammed her hands down on the counter, upsetting a few beakers and test tubes he was using to analyze some evidence. She didn’t apologize. “Because of you. It’s always because of you.” Unable to take another second, she took a deep breath and walked out, slamming the lab door behind her.

            “What did I do?” Sherlock asked, looking at John, who had attempted to avoid overhearing as much of the conversation as possible.

            John Watson leaned against the counter and looked at his friend. He crossed his arms. “She’s right. You observe every little thing around you, but you never see the bloody big picture. If someone has to tell you, Sherlock, you’re not as clever as you think you are.”

            “Cut!” Uncle Mark called, pulling the headphones down around his neck. He waved over one of the production assistants and had them check the playback on the footage just shot. I squirmed in my seat next to him, my copy of the  _Sherlock_  script open on my lap. I was trying terribly hard not to cry.

            Louise Brealey came around the corner of the set, a water bottle in her hand. The makeup assistant dabbed at the foundation beneath her eyes, clearing up any tear smudges for the next take. Louise smiled at me and came to stand next to my chair. “I love this,” she said, the wave of her hand encompassing the entire set. “An episode for me. Thank you.”  
            I smiled and was just about to answer when Benedict strolled over from the snack table. He had a bagel between his teeth. “The show is called Sher-lock,” he said once he took a bite. “It’s supposed to be about me. Solving crimes and being generally brilliant.”

            He grinned, showing he was joking. I blushed, thinking of the nights we’d spent together since I came to Cardiff. The room was suddenly too warm. “It’s as much about Sherlock’s relationships as it is about his cleverness, Ben. What’s Sherlock without John? Or Lestrad? Or Moriarty, for that matter? So just hush and let Louise enjoy it. She’s fantastic.”

            We chit chatted for a few minutes before Uncle Mark called for the scene to be reset. Louise followed a PA over to make sure she was on the right mark. Benedict kissed my forehead, smelling like baked bread and hairspray. “You okay?”

            “Never better,” I lied, pushing him toward his place on the set. I knew he could see right through me, but it was better to just hold that conversation off until later.

            The truth was it was difficult for me to sit there and watch these scenes play out. It was my life playing out in front of hundreds of people. Eventually, when it hit the BBC, the entire country would see it. It had been hard to write the episode, mostly because I had to be careful to stay true to the characters of Sherlock and Molly that Uncle Mark and Steven had brought to life while still trying to tell this story. Putting Tom and myself into the characters had been too easy. It was like throwing my feelings on paper and seeing what stuck.

            They set the scene up again, and I watched as Louise and Benedict morphed into these different people. It was hard not to cry as I watched Molly finally fighting for herself. And I was so proud that I had made it happen.

            “I’ll be back on Thursday,” I murmured, my lips pressed against Benedict’s. There was barely enough room between our mouths for air, let alone words.

            We stood in the living room of his flat because if we went into the bedroom we’d fall into bed and I’d never make it to my train on time. Benedict had his arms around me, his large hands spanning the expanse of my back. He kissed me softly, a low moan rumbling in his throat. It swept across my nerves and soaked into my blood. I didn’t want to leave him.

            Benedict groaned as he pulled away from me, picking up my computer bag and overnight case. The car was waiting outside to take me to the train. I had to go back to London for several meetings at the publishing house, and one of my authors wanted to have lunch to discuss some of my corrections. There was no other option than to go home and take care of things. Then I could rush back to Cardiff, to Benedict, to the life I was building.

            “I love you,” I said, feeling the words melt on my tongue and slide into the air like they belonged in the world.

            He took my hand, pulling me down the stairs to the waiting car. He hugged me fiercely and kissed me firmly before opening the back door for me. “I love you, too,” he whispered, leaning in the door. “Come back soon, Annie. Please.”

            I sat in my office going through the stack of post that had accumulated in my absence. I tore through the envelopes, throwing the junk into the bin before I looked too carefully at it. The rest of the post was made of letters from agents and memos from the buyers in the publishing house to pitch new novels to me. My secretary brought in my date diary with the appointments I had to make before I went back to Cardiff.

            “There’s someone here to see you,” she said, putting the book on the desk in front of me. “No appointment. Do you want me to have them come back later?”

            “Who is it?” I asked, sweeping my eyes over the list in front of me. My next appointment was in forty-five minutes.

            “Says he’s a friend of yours. He’s handsome alright.”

             _Tom_ , I thought. I rubbed my fingers over the sides of my nose and sighed.  _Can’t I have one day? Just one day._

            “Send him in,” I groaned, too tired to deal with this. In the past few months, my best friend and I had grown so far apart that we barely knew each other anymore. More often than not, I was so frustrated with him that I lost my temper before he even walked in.

            Tom stepped into my office and came around the desk to hug me. I stood up to embrace him and quickly sat back down. He was dressed casually today in his favorite blue-grey v-neck t-shirt and faded leather jeans. He was even wearing his cowboy boots. I couldn’t help but grin because I remembered how excited he was when he got them.

            “You look amazing,” Tom said, sitting back in the chair across from my desk. My fingers tumbled over a few papers, trying to keep myself busy so my mind didn’t go places it shouldn’t. “Wales agrees with you.”

            He said it so casually that I almost didn’t catch it. I’d told him I was going to Cardiff to oversee the episode, but the faint sad smile on his face let me know he knew where I’d been staying.  _What business is it of yours?_  I thought angrily.

            I sighed. “I’m slightly busy here, Tom. What’s going on?”

            He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I wanted to apologize. For the engagement party. Neither Vanessa nor I were very kind to you. It’s the stress of planning a wedding and knowing she’s going to Columbia for a month. And I have the new film starting in September. Press tours for the new  _Thor_ and  _Only Lovers_. There’s so much… and I’ve been a terrible friend.”

            I swallowed hard, sadness creeping around the edges of my heart. Was that why he looked so unhappy at the party? Was he feeling guilty—finally—about the way he was treating me?

            “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Tom. I’m not your keeper.”

            “No, you’re my best friend. Annie,” he said, looking horribly sad. I felt as sad as he appeared, and I didn’t like it. “We’ve been friends forever. I don’t want to lose you. Vanessa’s not taking your place, you know.”

            I stood up and went over to the shelf that held the manuscripts belonging to several of my other authors. I had to take some of them with me to work on when I went back to Cardiff. Scanning the color coded boxes, I found the ones I was searching for. “Of course she isn’t. But what is it they say in the marriage vows, leave all others behind and cleave to your spouse? Whatever place I have in your life, I’m sure she’s not taking it. Trust me.”

            My voice was steady. The words might have been so quiet that he didn’t hear them all, but they were true and they needed to be said. I stacked the manuscript boxes on the side of my desk to make sure I took them home.

            Tom crossed the room. He was so close I could smell the cologne on his skin. “Do you remember that day when we were kids, before I left for Eton?”

            He was talking about the day he told me about his parents’ divorce. I don’t know why he asked me if I remembered. He was the one who forgot things. I nodded, sinking back into my chair and checking the clock. I had to go to a meeting soon.

            “You promised you’d be around forever.” Tom sounded so much like the boy I’d known. Like the one I’d loved with all my heart for my entire life. “You promised.”

            I sighed. “We were thirteen, Tom. We didn’t know life would turn out this way.”

            Tom leaned over and pressed a kiss to my cheek. His fingers lingered against my arm. “Nothing in my life would be this way if it wasn’t for you, Annie. You’re the one who was solid, who loved me no matter what. I started acting because of you. Because you supported me. Don’t leave me, please.”

            My heart cracked straight down the middle and crumbled into dust. “I won’t.”


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

July 1999

            The air was warm and humid, too hot to be shivering the way I was. The horrible plastic crown tumbled out of my hair and snapped on the sidewalk, leaving a trail of sequins and feathers behind us. Sarah and Emma were half a block ahead of Tom and I as we walked from the Tube station back home. They couldn’t hear us, and they certainly couldn’t see the way Tom was looking at me.

            His cheeks were bright pink, whether it was from the alcohol or the heat or me I didn’t know. His eyes were bright blue and shining like he had a fever. Tom kept his hand tucked into my back pocket and it felt as if his fingers were burning a brand into my flesh. He kept pulling me closer and leaning over to kiss my hair or my cheek.

            We swayed as we walked, both more than a little sloshed. My birthday had come and gone, my first real foray into adulthood. The first day of my adult life would no doubt be spent nursing a hangover and swearing to never drink this much again.

            “Annie,” Tom said thickly, his lips warm and wet against my skin. “I want to stay with you.”

            I bit my lip and sighed. With his sisters so far ahead, I wrapped my fingers in the fluttering tail of his Eton shirt and pulled him close. We tumbled into the trunk of a tree lining the walk laughing. Tom pressed me back against the rough bark, his hands on either side of my head. His hips tilted against mine, pinning me between him and the tree as his mouth descended on mine.

            The kiss was urgent and distracting. His lips were hot and demanding. Tom stroked his tongue over my bottom lip and nipped it with his teeth. When my mouth parted in a gasp, he brushed his tongue against my teeth and began exploring the wet roughness of my tongue with his. My hands slid down his stomach and wrapped around the waist of his jeans.

            “Annie…” His voice was a gravelly growl that vibrated through my skin. His hand slid down my neck. Tom spread his palm over my breast as his alcohol-tinged breath danced over my cheek. His mouth trailed wet kisses up my jaw to my ear. “I love you, Annie. Stay the night with me. Go to bed with me.”

            I didn’t need to think. I didn’t need to wonder if it was the right thing to do.

            I nodded.

            We stumbled, laughing quietly, into my bedroom. My parents were asleep in their room upstairs and Anthony was away with some of his friends on his gap year. Tom and I made sure to lock my door before we wrapped ourselves around each other. His hands were beneath my shirt and running across my skin setting my nerves alight. His mouth was everywhere, too hot and wet and turning me inside out with want.

            Tom gripped the end of my shirt and pulled it over my head, laughing when it got caught on my hair. He grabbed a handful of my blue streaked hair and pulled my head back so he could kiss down my neck. My fingers dug at his buckle as I struggled to get it undone. I suddenly hated belts and buttons and zippers more than anything else in the world.

            I giggled as Tom worked to get my bra undone. I finally just reached back and did it for him. “Shirt,” I mumbled, tugging the hem up his torso. He grumbled and nearly tore it off. It landed over the lamp on the desk, which wobbled before crashing to the floor.

            We stood still, skin-to-skin, waiting for my parents to come down. When they didn’t, we fell onto my bed together. He settled his body over mine, pressing me into the bed as he kissed me again, his tongue exploring my mouth just as his hands slid down my body. Tom’s fingers worked the button on my jeans, popping it free and tugging at the zipper.

            Before I knew it we were naked and Tom’s fingers were inside me, pumping in and out as his mouth sucked at the hollow of my throat. It hurt but it felt so good and it was Tom touching me and that was all I ever wanted. “You’re so tight,” he panted, hovering over me, his hips between my thighs.

            My thoughts were a haze. I was so close to something that I didn’t understand, but I was so afraid of what was about to happen. I was afraid of the truth he was about to learn. “I’ve never…”

            Tom kissed me again, his hands sliding down my thighs and pulling them further apart. He held himself there, looking up the length of my body with his wide blue eyes. I needed something that I couldn’t put words to. “I love you,” Tom whispered, pressing his cock against me. “It’ll hurt. Just at first. I’ll try…”  
            I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Go on,” I leaned forward and kissed him, grunting in pain and discomfort as he thrust forward slowly. My body stretched around him and a sharp agony ran through me as he tore through my virginity. It hurt, oh, it hurt. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted it to be over.

            “Annie,” his voice trembled. I felt his body shaking as much as mine was. “Look at me.”

            I opened my eyes, embarrassed by the tears rolling back into my hair from the pain. My best friend—the boy I loved—kissed me, muffling my cries as he pulled his hips back and thrust in again. I clutched at his arms, his back, anything I could reach as the pain began to recede and something like pleasure spilled over.

            I woke up sometime after four. Tom and his clothes were gone.

Present Day

            Benedict was waiting at the train station when I arrived back in Cardiff. He laughed when he saw the pencil holding my hair in a messy bun and the black glasses perched on the top of my head. Papers stuck out of my computer case and my overnight bag was bulging with the extra work I’d brought with me.

            He didn’t hesitate. He swept me up into a hug that was warm and perfect. He kissed me soundly, cradling my cheeks between his large hands. “Oh, dear God, I’ve missed you.” He took my overnight bag with one hand and grasped my fingers with the other. “I haven’t known what to do with myself.”

            I smiled, happy to be back with Benedict. Even if we had only been apart for three days. There was something to be said about being appreciated and loved. “Get yourself together, Mr. Cumberbatch,” I said, laughing. “We’ve got work to do.”

            I got a call while I was on set that evening, watching Benedict and Martin shooting a scene in the car park of St. Bart’s. They were searching around Molly Hooper’s car for clues. John had found it with the keys in the ignition, door open, and blood on the ground. Molly had vanished.

            When I was able to get away, I checked my voicemail. It was a message from Tom. Amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa was coming through Cardiff the next day on her way to meet a contact before she left for Columbia. It would mean a lot to him if we had lunch together. It would mean a lot to her. Apparently she wanted to apologize for the party as well. He left me her number and begged me to call.

            I wanted to throw up as I dialed the number. Her exotic accent answered. “Hello?”

            “Vanessa, it’s Anthea Gatiss. Tom’s friend.” I felt strange saying those words. We didn’t feel much like friends these days. “He said you were passing through Cardiff, and I was hoping I might take you to lunch. A bit of a get-to-know-you.”

            Surprisingly, and much to my displeasure (I mean, if she was rude to me then I could dislike her, couldn’t I?), she agreed. “That would be lovely. Nothing posh, alright? Something simple would be very nice.”

            We agreed to meet the next day at a restaurant in downtown Cardiff not far from the train station. We’d have just enough time for a leisurely lunch before she had to catch her second train.

             _Dear God,_ I thought,  _what have I gotten myself into?_


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Present Day

            Vanessa was sitting at a table by the window when I rushed in the door of the little diner. She looked horribly out of place in her sleek pencil skirt and tailored suit jacket. Her raven hair was twisted into a ponytail low against her neck. A ridiculous diamond glittered on her finger. I felt suddenly very campy in my faded jeans, Chucks, and wrap sweater. My hair was little more than a mess held back by a headband and a braid.

            “I’m so sorry,” I said, huffing slightly as I sank into the chair across the table from her. “Shooting ran long and Uncle Mark didn’t want me to leave while they were shooting this very important scene. I tried to ring, but I suppose signal might have been out of range.”

            For the first time since I’d met her, Vanessa Wallace actually smiled at me. It was absolutely stunning. She took a sip from her water glass and slid her mobile from her pocket. “You did! I’ve had it on vibrate. I must not have heard it at all.”

            My head began to hurt. To say I was confused was to put it far too mildly. Every other time I’d met Vanessa, she had been cruel, cold, and dismissive. Now she was being kind and charming. I didn’t know what to think.

            I turned to see a waitress placing a glass of soda at the head of my plate. It fizzed and popped. When I lifted it to my lips, the scent of Coca Cola hit my nose.

            “Tom said you liked it with lunch. Coke,” Vanessa said, gesturing to the glass I held. Although she was still smiling, some of the hardness seemed to creep back into her eyes. “He talks about you a lot.”

            My face burned. “We’ve been friends for a very long time. I’d be surprised if he didn’t talk about me sometimes.” I quickly realized what I’d said and practically slapped my forehead. “That sounded horribly stuck up. I’m sorry. It’s just that we’ve shared a lot of things in our lives.”

             _Firsts_ , I thought, wiping my sweating palms on my jeans.  _So very many firsts._

            “I understand,” she said. “Really, I do. And it’s taken me a bit to get there. I’ve been dreadful to you. Jealousy will do that to a woman.”

            I coughed and sputtered, pressing my napkin to my mouth. “Excuse me?”

            Vanessa looked painfully uncomfortable. “Tom is a charming man, and he’s obviously had girlfriends in the past. When I saw you the first time, you were wearing his shirt and you had rituals that were just between the two of you. You even cooked his favorite desserts, and I can’t cook worth anything. Competition. That’s how I saw you.”

            “Me? You’ve got to be mad,” I said. “I am most certainly not competition for someone like you.”

            “You’ve got a bit of his heart that I will never ever be able to touch. You are, very much, the center of his universe, Anthea. The last twenty-five years of his life have revolved around you.”

            I looked out the window, uncomfortable with the steadiness of her gaze. “I think you’ve got that bit wrong, Vanessa. Acting is the center of his universe. That, and his family.”

            “Acting is important to him because  _you_  suggested it.” Vanessa seemed to be stuck on this idea. Surely I wasn’t so very central to Tom’s life, was I? After how far apart we’d drifted?

            “Whatever was in the past doesn’t matter very much anymore. Tom’s entire life has changed, and he has you now. I’m part of what he had, you are part of what he has.” I reached across the table and touched her hand, lifting up the finger that bore that obscene engagement ring. “What do you want me to do, Vanessa? What’s best for Tom?”

            She didn’t hesitate. “For the two of us to get along. He’s your friend, but he’s going to be my husband. Just make me a promise.”

            I shrugged, relatively certain I could keep anything she asked of me. “Of course.”

            Her eyes were sad. “Don’t try to take him away from me. Because if you asked, he’d take this ring off my finger and put it on yours.”

April 1993

            “Anthea! Thomas! Sit still!” My mum glared at Tom and me as we sat in the cinema, great tubs of popcorn on our laps and our third Coca Cola’s in cup holders at our wrists. It was early on a Saturday afternoon, and we were getting ready to watch  _Jurassic Park_  for the fourth time.

            “Don’t jump this time, Annie,” Tom said, digging his hand into his popcorn bucket. “Only girls jump when the dinosaurs pop out of nowhere.”

            I threw kernels of popcorn at him, earning a smack on the knee from Mum. “But I am a girl!”

            “No, you’re not. You’re Annie.”

            We  _oohed_  and  _ahhed_  at all the right places. The auditorium was practically empty, so we could be as loud as we wanted. Tom chucked his popcorn at the screen and shouted at Ellie. “Don’t go down there! The raptor’s eaten the lot of him!” Four times in and we both watched the velociraptors in the kitchen through our fingers.

            At the end of the movie, we went running down the hallway toward the toilets, our bladders bursting after more soda than we’d ever be allowed any other time. Mum apologized to the ushers who were walking in to clean up the auditorium for the next showing. Tom and I had left a mountain of popcorn on the floor, more even than what we’d put in our stomachs.

            I begged Mum for some change for the game machines. There were video games and claw machines with dozens of toys inside. When she gave me a handful of coins, I split them with Tom and took off to the arcade. We played  _Street Fighter_  and  _Duck Hunter_  before we ran down to our last two coins.

            “I’m good at those,” Tom said, pointing to the claw machine. He spent the last of his money and worked the joystick to try to grab something from the cache of prizes. I laughed when the claw snatched at a plush toy and drop it before he could collect it.

            “Stuff it,” I said, pushing him out of the way. I dropped in my coins and tried my hand at picking up a plush football at the back. All I succeeded in doing was making it roll two inches to the front.

            Mum called for us to come on, saying we had to get home. Tom jumped at me, his hands outstretched. He made that horrible sound the velociraptors made in the movie. “I’m going to fine one. A dinosaur.”

            I shoved him off me and walked backwards so I could talk to him. “What would you call it? A Tomasaurus Rex?”

            “No!” he smirked. “I’d call it a Hiddlesaurus. And it would be the most amazing dinosaur ever. Bigger than a T. Rex.”

            Mum waved us into the car and handed us both a box of caramel corn. We’d stuffed ourselves silly at the cinema, but we still tore into the boxes and wiggled our fingers into the cardboard containers for the prize. Tom ripped open the lumpy package and pulled out a plastic ring with a shiny pink stone.

            He wrinkled his nose and handed it to me. “Here. You can have it.”

            I pushed it on my forefinger and tore into my prize. It was a football card, the sweeper for Manchester United. I wanted to keep it, but I held it out. Tom pushed it back. “He’s your favorite.”

Present Day

            Cardiff was practically flooding. It had been raining for the past two days, and I joked to Uncle Mark that we should shut down production and start tearing down sets to build an ark. He laughed, hugged me tight, and told me to enjoy the weekend. Apparently Benedict had requested a few days off and the shooting schedule had been pushed back until Monday.

            I had one of the French doors propped open so that the flat filled with the scent of rain. My laptop and manuscripts were spread over the dining table where I’d been up late the night before working. Benedict was still asleep. I could see him from where I stood in the kitchen, the sheets wrapped low around his back and his arm draped over my pillow. The kettle whistled on the stove and I pulled it off before the sound woke Benedict.

            After pouring myself a mug of tea, I pushed the French door shut and padded back into the bedroom. The tea seeped warmth into my body that was wholly separate from the warmth that came from seeing the man lying in the bed. I stood in the doorway and watched the rise and fall of Benedict’s chest as I sipped at my morning tea.

            I felt guilty that part of me was thinking about what Vanessa said at lunch the other day. Was it true that Tom felt that way about me? That he would be able to walk away from her if I told him I loved him? Tom was my first love, the first man I’d ever had sex with, the first boy I’d ever kissed. He was the center of  _my_ universe.

            But then I looked at Benedict and saw the way his hand searched the bed for me, even while he was sound asleep. He loved me. He was kind and everything a girl could ask for. And I loved him, too. I was happy when I was with him. I felt more like myself than I had in months—maybe even years. More than anything, that was what love was about. Being with someone who let you be perfectly yourself.

            I sat my mug on the bedside table and climbed back into bed. Benedict sighed in his sleep and shifted, wrapping his arm around my waist and tugging me against him. I felt his lashes flutter against the back of my neck. “Good morning,” he mumbled, pressing his lips along the curve of my bare shoulder. The spaghetti strap of my nightshirt slipped down my arm.

            “Go back to sleep, Ben.” I snuggled deeper into his embrace. His arms were warm and strong, and I didn’t want anything more.

            He slid one arm beneath my head and held me close in the cage of his arms. Our bodies were curved together, his head on the pillow just above mine. I could feel his breath stirring my hair. I smiled and kissed the bicep beneath my head. “I love you.”

            “Mmm,” he murmured, his tongue flicking along the back of my ear. “Happy birthday, darling.”


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Present Day

            “It’s finished,” Uncle Mark said. He sat at our dinner table in our little Cardiff flat. It was strange that I thought of it as  _our_ flat. Once the last pick-ups were shot, Benedict would be moving back to London to his home there. I had already begun packing to go home. “Principal photography is wrapped.”

            Benedict grinned at me from where we stood at the stove together. He pushed a wooden spoon through a mixture of vegetables as they cooked in olive oil. I was up to my wrists in flour as I mixed batter for tarts and watched the chicken searing in a pan. The two of us had fallen into a routine in our days in Cardiff. It was like we were in our own little world. We went to work together, cooked dinner, and made love late into the night. I dreaded the moment it would end and we’d have to go back to reality.

            “Louise actually cried,” Benedict said, adjusting the heat beneath the vegetables. “She said it was one of the most real things she’d ever done.”

            I burned bright. Uncle Mark came into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. “When people see it… Anthea, you may have a whole new career on your hands.”

            The thought of people seeing it… of  _Tom_ seeing it made me feel slightly sick. But it was done, and everything I’d seen from set and the dailies was perfect. I couldn’t imagine anything being better than what they already had. That was the whole purpose of tonight, to celebrate the final scene on my very first episode. Louise was coming, as were Martin and Amanda. I supposed they’d gotten a sitter for the night.

            The rest of our guests arrived around half past seven, and Benedict and I served our homemade dinner as if we were Gordon Ramsay himself. There was even a vegetarian option for Martin, who held up his glass and toasted a perfectly made vegetable risotto. We sat around the table, me perched on Benedict’s lap as we lacked a fifth chair. He kept his hand on my back.

            The table was heavy laden with chicken, vegetables, risotto and rice rolls. A pan of fresh apple cinnamon tarts sat on the counter cooling, each of them nearly as big as a plate. The bottle of wine was passed around. Halfway through dinner, Louise pulled a gift bag from beneath the table and pushed it over to me.

            She smiled. “Go on, open it.”

            I looked at Uncle Mark and Martin, who were both chuckling. Benedict kept his lips busy by taking a drink of his wine. I pulled aside the lavender tissue paper and grinned when I saw what was inside. It was a Sherlock cap, the deer hunter with two fronts and ear flaps. There was a little magnifying glass pin stuck to the front of it that said “I heart Sherlock.” I recognized both of them from the series two finale.

            Proudly, I plopped it on my head. “You’re all horrible. And I love you desperately.” I hugged Uncle Mark and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Louise tugged me into an embrace that I thought would never end. Martin chuckled. “You’ve been fucking brilliant, Annie.”  
            Amanda clucked her tongue at him, but didn’t say anything. Everyone knew Martin had a bit of a problem with the word fuck. He had the worst potty mouth I’d ever heard.

            “You knew,” I said, poking Benedict in the chest as we cleared away the dishes. He loaded them into the little dishwasher after I rinsed them in the sink. “You’re an evil man.”

            He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed the side of my neck. “Ah, but you love my brand of evil.” He kissed me again before digging in the ice box for some ice cream.

            I pinched my wrist hard with my fingernails to stop myself from thinking about blond curls, a sherbet fight on a trampoline, and a Christmas night learning to make apple tarts for Tom. Benedict deserved every bit of me, and I wasn’t going to deny him that.

            I kept the hat on all through the evening. When the others finally left, Louise gave me another big hug and a broad smile. “Thank you again,” she said. “It wasn’t awkward, was it?”

            Giggling, I shook my head. “I have seen his other films. It wasn’t all that strange at all.”

            As soon as everyone was gone, I went to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. I packed the leftovers away in Tupperware containers and wiped down the counters and the table. Benedict locked the front door and made sure the French doors were latched. He snatched the hat from my head and settled it over his dark curls.

            “It’s a ridiculous thing, isn’t it?” he asked, his blue eyes flicked up to look at the brim of the hat. He let his hands settle on my hips and pulled me against him. My arms went around his neck as we swayed to a rhythm all our own.

            My heart ran like a hummingbird in my chest. I scratched my nails gently against the nape of Benedict’s neck before burrowing my fingers into his hair. “I think it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

            The corner of his mouth lifted. “It is, hmm?” His thumbs twirled circles over my hipbones. “What about the coat? Is that sexy?”

            I licked my lips, heat burning through my limbs and making my fingers and toes tingle. “Mmm. It’s the shirt. The way you wear it,” I murmured, sliding one hand down over his throat to the buttons of his shirt. I worked the first three buttons free and pushed the sides open to show the pale skin of his chest and the shadowed hollows over his collarbones. “That’s the sexiest.”

            Benedict leaned forward, his soft lips touching feather-light kisses to my forehead, nose, and cheeks. His hands slid up my back, cupping my shoulder blades as his mouth met mine. Every kiss with Benedict was different and yet achingly familiar. He pressed gentle kisses to each corner of my mouth before licking his tongue slowly over my bottom lip. “I have something for you,” he said, his voice deep and thick.

            My fingers twisted in the front of his shirt as I pushed my hips forward, grinding them against his. “I know,” I whispered. My voice came out with a husky seductive timbre. I watched the shiver dance up his spine. I pressed my hips forward again.

            He chuckled and coasted his hands up over my ribs. He gently pushed me back a step, leaving me feeling suddenly bereft of contact. “In time, my love. Just… wait a moment.” But I could see from the way his breath quickened and the bulge in his trousers that he didn’t want to wait. Benedict guided me to the sofa and pushed me to sit. Then he disappeared into the bedroom.

            When he returned, he had something clutched in his long fingers. Benedict sat beside me and smiled, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. His thumb stroked over my earlobe, sending a thousand tiny shocks deep into my core. He knew I loved to be kissed and touched around my ear. It was a horrible tease for him to do it when he wanted me wait.

            “I love you, Annie,” he stated simply. His melted-snow-running-water-blue eyes were serious as they searched my face. “I know it hasn’t been very long, but I’m certain of one thing. That you deserve to be adored and loved every second of every hour of every day. I want to be the man to love you. I want to cheer you on and fall into bed with you every night and make love to you every chance I get.”

            He opened his hand to reveal a small diamond ring. It was modest and classic and absolutely beautiful. “Ben…”

            “It’s not a promise that you’ll marry me tomorrow, Annie. Just that you’ll let me love you and that you’ll love me.” Benedict stroked his thumb over my cheekbone.

            I looked at the ring, thinking it was so elegant compared to the monstrosity that sat on amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa’s hand. The simple gesture seemed to be much more like the Benedict I knew and loved. Tears pricked my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks.

            “I promise.”

            His face broke into an ecstatic grin as he slipped the ring onto my finger. Then he pulled me to my feet and crushed his lips against me. He groaned against my mouth and burrowed his fingers into my hair.

            Nearly an hour later, we were beneath the blankets, our clothes strewn across the floor and hanging from the end of the bed. Benedict lay against my side, his mouth caressing one breast while his hand stroked the other. We’d spent the last hours in bed just touching and kissing. His hands hadn’t strayed below my waist and the anticipation was a tortuous pleasure. The nerves in my body were wound so tight I knew the slightest touch in just the right spot would send me over the edge of a cliff and plunge me to drown under a sea of ecstasy. My fingers played in his hair and slid over the skin of his shoulders, feeling the muscles flexing beneath.

            “Ben…” I moaned as he moved down my stomach and up my sides with his tongue. I shivered and lifted my hips, pleading with him to put me out of my misery. “Ben, please…”

            He smiled against my hipbone before rolling over me. My legs opened and he nudged his hips in the curve of my thighs. His cock teased against my entrance. I needed release so badly that I thought I would cry from the frustration. Benedict gripped my hips and drew my body further down the bed, pushing my legs wider as he flexed forward, his cock sliding deep into me in one smooth stroke.

            “Oh, God…” My body arched up off the bed and my hips swayed and rolled, grinding on his cock. I needed just one touch, just a little friction and my entire being would explode. I hooked my legs around his hips. “Fuck me. Please!”

            Benedict growled deep in his chest. He pulled back and slammed his cock into me again, hitting spots I didn’t know existed. He did it over and over, pushing me higher and higher, winding my nerves tighter and tighter until I didn’t think I could take it anymore. Just when I was on the edge, when I could feel my orgasm building in the tips of my toes, he pulled away.

            “Get on your knees, my love,” he said. His voice was low and dripped over me. I shivered and did as he asked. Bracing myself against the headboard, I barely had enough time to glance back over my shoulder before he filled me again. The slam of his body against mine was brilliant. His hand slipped between my legs and pressed two fingers to my clit.

            My orgasm exploded around me. It ripped the breath out of my lungs and tore through every muscle and nerve until I was nothing but a ball of sensation. I jerked and moaned as every thrust of Benedict’s cock send a miniature crack of pleasure through me. Everything around me went grey and fuzzy. There was no sound, no sight, just the feel of his hands on me and his cock inside me.

            He wrapped his arm around my body just beneath my breasts and pulled me into a new position. Benedict sat back on his heels. My back was pressed to his chest and I straddled his lap, my legs spread wide on either side of his. He held me up with his arms. One of them wrapped around my stomach, his hand tucked beneath my thighs so he could stroke my clit. The other rested beneath my breasts so he could cup and squeeze them with his glorious long fingers.

            Benedict pounded into me. I was nearly catatonic with pleasure. It was as if one orgasm after another fragmented beneath my skin and swirled in my blood until I could feel nothing else. He bucked into me, his breath grunting against my ear as he came.

            We fell to the mattress and rolled to the side. Sweat slicked our skin. The most pleasurable exhaustion swept over me, and I fell asleep in the arms of the man I loved.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

May 2012

            It was like being a kid again. Tom and I sat in the very back row of the cinema, each with a tub of popcorn on our laps and a Coca Cola by our wrists. It was like every other time we’d gone to see a film together, only this time would be the first time I’d actually watched one of Tom’s films with him. I’d seen them all, seen every television show, every short film, every play, but not once had we seen them together.

            The lights went down. A world of stars faded onto the screen. From the second the first word touched my ears, I was lost. I was drawn back into that world of my brother’s comic books and childhood. And all of it was because of Tom.

            “I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.” The words ran a tap-dance along my spine and settled at the base of my skull. On screen, Tom looked terrible and wonderful at once. Pale face, sunken eyes, jet black hair. Leather and metal and a wicked spear. It was my Tom but some part of him that was completely different.

            Halfway through the film, when Loki was caught in the Hulk’s glass prison and tormenting Black Widow, I glanced sideways to find Tom watching me instead of the screen. His eyes were wide. The sharpness of his cheekbones was colored pink.

            By the end, I was perched on the edge of my seat. The amazing thing was that I didn’t even know which side I was on—Loki’s or the Avengers’. And when Loki was being hauled back to Asgard in chains and a muzzle, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My hand found Tom’s and I squeezed for dear life.

            People began filing out as the credits rolled. I reached for my purse, but Tom pushed me back into my seat. “Wait,” he said quietly. “Just wait.”

            Only a handful of people remained in the auditorium, fans enough of the Marvel films to know that there was always a little extra somewhere in the final credits. When it came up, I heard a girl five rows up turn to her date and mumble something that sounded very similar to  _holy shite_. Tom chuckled, his  _eheheheh_  running along my nerves. It was such a heady thing watching one of his films knowing he was right beside me.

            We snuck out a side door and ran around the building into the car park. Stars were bright overhead, and I looked up, searching for a flash of blue or a swirling cloud of rainbow against the darkness. “Is Loki up there, I wonder? Plotting his next great mischief?”

            Tom slid his arm around my waist, his hand on my hip. He was so very warm. “I start filming  _Thor 2_  in the fall,” he whispered. “We’ll find out.”

            I leaned my head against his shoulder and tucked my arm around his back. We strolled slowly through the car park, watching couples and families piling back into the cars for the drive home. I sighed, feeling Tom’s ribs beneath my hands. “You’ve got to put on some weight, Tom. Please.”

            “As soon as this film’s over. I promise. I’ve only got a little while longer.” He was off to Detroit the next morning to film parts of his new project. Then he’d go to Germany to finish. It would probably be weeks—if not months—before I saw him again. “When I come back, you can have me a massive meal. I’ll eat everything. I swear.”

            He held open my door, and I slid into the crisp air of the car. He was in a second later, key in the ignition. “So, honestly, what did you think?”

            “I think you looked very… smashing.” He gave me a ghastly look before the both of us dissolved into laughter. When he had been in New Mexico filming, he’d told me all about the scene where he was jumping up and down on wires and smacking himself into the ground. Apparently there had been ass pads involved and he’d landed on his elbow like a tit. I’d seen the bruises when he came home. “But that scene… the one with Scarlett… how did you do that?”

            Tom turned in his seat and showed me one of the most serious and genuine expressions I’d ever seen. “I thought of how I would threaten someone I hated. Someone who threatened Emma or Sarah or you. Shouting is just bluster and a cry for attention. That voice… the way those words came out… vehemence and poison was better than anger.”

            “It was brilliant. It was frightening. And wonderful. It was absolutely fantastic to see.” I reached for his hand and held it between both of mine. “That’s why people love you, Tom. Because you’re amazing.”

            He smiled and kissed my cheek. “Only because of you.”

Present Day

            Life returned to normal once I left Cardiff and came back to London. My days were once again spent in my office working through manuscripts and working with designers for the covers of my authors’ new books. The days of crazy schedules, midnight call times, and a world away from everyone else faded into reality. Benedict went to his house outside the city while I went to mine. But I saw him every day.

            Months passed. Benedict picked up another project and spent two months in Spain. I spent a weekend on a beach with him, watching his skin soak up the sun and turn golden. We splashed in the ocean and spent nights together watching the world turn. It was wonderful and better than anything I could ever have wanted.

            At last, Christmas came. I spent most of the weekend before the holiday decorating the house. Garland and lights. Stockings over the fireplace. A gigantic tree situated just in front of the sitting room window draped with lights and shining glass ornaments. Presents for my brother, my sister-in-law, my nieces, my parents, Benedict, and Tom sat perfectly wrapped under the tree. There was even a small gift for Vanessa as well.

            I laid out everything I would need to cook Christmas dinner on the counter. Mum had let me help with it from the time I was fourteen until the year I moved out on my own. Now I was making it for the rest of the family. Roast turkey, boiled potatoes, beans, homemade bread and rolls, apple tarts, chocolate mousse, and more vegetables than I could count. I’d be cooking for a day.

            Benedict came by at noon with his suitcase and a box packed full of gifts. He tucked them under the tree and rolled up his sleeves to join me in the kitchen. Soon the house was filled with the scent of cooking and the sound of our laughter. He found every excuse to touch or kiss me while we cooked.

            “Are you going to marry me?” he asked, kissing the back of my left hand. It was a conversation we’d had over and over for the past few months. After almost a year together, it seemed like it was finally time to seriously consider it.

            Smiling, I touched my free hand to his cheek. “Yes.”

            Anthony arrived first, lugging a box of gifts while his wife, Cheyenne corralled Samantha and Caroline into the sitting room. She had a plate of sugar cookies wrapped in cellophane. My brother shook hands with Benedict and began picking through the finger foods spread out on the counter. I swept my nieces up into a warm hug and pointed to the stockings over the fireplace, two of which were bulging with small toys and candies.

            My parents pulled in just moments before Tom and Vanessa. The four of them came up the walk and let themselves in. Soon the house was full of laughter and chatter. Presents spilled out from beneath the tree, wrapped in every shade of paper. A thousand wonderful smells wafted from the kitchen. I gave Tom a hug, feeling self-conscious with Vanessa standing right there. She surprised both of us by hugging me as well.

            Her eyes fell on the ring on my hand, noticing the good news my best friend had ignored. ‘Congratulations, Annie,” she said, something like relief reflecting in her eyes. It was like my engagement was a final confrontation of the promise I’d made her that day in Cardiff. Now that I was Benedict’s, she didn’t have to worry about me coming between her and Tom.

            Tom teased Samantha, tugging on the end of her braid and asking her how many boyfriends she had at primary school. She was six. He chuckled when she said boys were icky. “But I’m a boy,” Tom said, sneaking her a cookie from the table while he thought no one was looking.

            My niece rolled her eyes. “You’re not a boy! You’re my Uncle Tom.”

            Caroline, who was three and didn’t take well to people she’d never met, sat on Vanessa’s lap, pointing at the massive diamond on her finger. Tom’s girlfriend smiled and pushed my niece’s hair from her forehead. I’d never seen Caroline being so friendly to anyone she’d never seen before. Tom took the seat beside Vanessa and grinned as they entertained my brother’s daughters.

            I’d seen a glimpse of it that day we had lunch together in Cardiff, but now I was seeing what made Tom fall in love with Vanessa. She may have been intelligent and successful, but it seemed like she had a good heart, too. I suppose I’d been just as wrong about her as she had been about me.

            Benedict brought out the turkey and started slicing off pieces for everyone. We loaded our plates with everything we could carry and sat around the tree. Benedict sat in the wide armchair where I read and watched telly and protested when I made to carry a chair from the dining room to sit in. He balanced his plate on the arm of the chair and pulled me into his lap.

            “I like you here,” he said, kissing me softly. I felt the smile curve my lips and the warmth dance into my cheeks.

            I looked up to see Tom watching us, something unreadable on his face. For a second, his gaze slid down to my hand clutched around my glass. The diamond sparkled on my finger and caught in his blue-green gaze. The blood drained straight out of his face.

            “Excuse me,” he said, standing up and dropping his plate onto the table. He walked out of the sitting room in silence, his jaw bunched as if he were grinding his teeth.

            My eyes snapped to Vanessa, fearing that she would be angry with me. Instead she just looked sad. And I felt horrible for her.

            Would I ever get the chance to be happy without my feelings for Tom hanging over my head?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 17

Present Day

            “It’s on,” Benedict shouted from the sitting room. He and Uncle Mark were on opposite ends of the sofa as I came from the kitchen with a cup of tea. I hadn’t seen the finished cut of the episode yet. The first time I saw the complete translation of my words would be the same time as the rest of the country.

            Benedict pulled me down beside him, curling his arm over my shoulders and pressing a kiss to my temple. My heart was turning cartwheels in my chest. I felt slightly sick. Uncle Mark patted my knee. “Everything will be just fine, Anthea. You’ll see. I’m predicting a fan favorite.”

            The episode opened with an interior of Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up after one of Sherlock’s experiments. John was at the desk, laptop open as he wrote up their most recent case for his blog. A dressing gown lay over the back of Sherlock’s chair. The man of the hour was nowhere to be seen.

            “Is he still in there?” Mrs. Hudson said, pointing toward the closed door down the hallway.

            John rubbed his eyes and nodded. “He hasn’t left in two days. I’ve never known Sherlock to be depressed.”

            The landlady smiled and tapped her knuckles on the bedroom door. “He’s not depressed. He’s pouting.”

            “He needs a case.”

            The theme music cued, the opening credits rolling. Benedict and Martin’s names faded onto the screen. A drop of some scientific solution dripped from the end of a dropper into a Petri dish. An upside down double reflection of Sherlock peering through his pocket magnifying glass. A shot of the bridge and the Eye standing over London,  _SHERLOCK_  scrawled across the screen.

            I nearly squealed when I saw  _WRITTEN BY ANTHEA GATISS_ appear at the bottom of the shot. Benedict kissed me again, grinning like a fool.

            The name of the episode faded into view.  _WHEN I’M GONE_.

Present Day

_Tom’s POV_

            Vanessa sat next to me, her feet tucked beneath her and a blanket over her legs. The television was on across the room and Annie’s episode was just about to begin. I was nervous for her, but I knew it would be brilliant. That was just how Annie was. Everything she did was amazing, it always had been.

            I flipped the television over and watched the opening credits. My chest constricted when I saw Annie’s name on the screen. It was better than seeing my name on a film poster for the first time. It was better than looking down at the world from the window of a plane over the Atlantic.  _This is how she’s felt all these years_ , I thought. This kind of pride was overwhelming and breathtaking. I felt like I was going to burst into a thousand pieces.

            The real plot of the episode began with a series of abductions. Women taken out of car parks all over London. No clues for the police to find, but Detective Inspector Lestrad knew how to find the culprit. Sherlock sauntered onto the crime scene, John trailing after him with his notebook opened. Two minutes with what was left of the woman’s things and the open door of her car and the consulting detective told the police more details than could be possible. Words floated onto the screen, cascading by as Sherlock saw them.

            He gathered evidence. Hair fibers, residue from hand cream on the door handle, and stalked to a taxi and barked to the driver to get him to St. Bartholomew’s hospital on the double. Sherlock shucked his coat in the lab and set to work. John waited on the other side of the room, shifting through the case files Lestrad had handed over.

            Sherlock peered through his microscope, barely looking up as the door opened. Molly Hooper walked in, looking much the same as she did in every other episode. She looked at Sherlock with sad eyes, like there was something she wanted to say but never could. She always looked at him like that.

            Vanessa moved on the sofa next to me. It was almost like she was uncomfortable.

            “Hello, Molly,” John said, looking up from the files. He smiled. She tried to smile back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

            Sherlock reached for a rack of test tubes to set up his experiments on the evidence he’d collected. He didn’t look at Molly even though she was standing just a few feet away.

            “The gas chromatograph is ready,” she said quietly. “It’s calibrated like you asked.”

            “Hmm,” he replied, filling the tubes.

            “The least you can do is say ‘thank you,’” Molly said, looking hurt.

            Sherlock looked up at last, but it was like he saw right through her. Like she wasn’t even there. “Why should I thank you for something I know you’re going to do anyway?”

            John looked uncomfortable and turned away. Molly pressed her palms to the counter. “Because it’s kind. Because it’s what normal people do when someone does something for them. Because people who care about each other are grateful for things.”

            “You do anything I ask, Molly. You’ve always been here, and you always will be.” Sherlock went back to his microscope, jotting down notes on the pad beside his hand.

            Something inside my gut twisted. Vanessa glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, her face slightly pale. My gaze slipped from Sherlock to Molly, to the way she looked at him as if there was nothing else in the world but him. He barely acknowledged her. Molly was a constant for him, more constant even than John. But she faded into the background whenever anything else drew his attention.

            “I’m trying to work, Molly. Do you need something else?” Sherlock said coldly, completely turning away from her.

            “You observe, Sherlock, but you don’t see anything.” I could see the tears in Molly’s eyes. They threatened to spill over her cheeks, but she stood firm. “You never see the things right in front of your face.”

            Sherlock glanced at her, brows furrowed together. The confused expression on his face faded to a blank one. “You’re crying, Molly. Why are you crying?”

            Molly smacked the counter. “Because of you. It’s always because of you.” She stalked out, slamming the door.

            “What did I do?”

            John Watson looked pained. “She’s right. You observe every little thing around you, but you never see the bloody big picture. If someone has to tell you, Sherlock, you’re not as clever as you think you are.”

            Vanessa sighed and got up. I barely noticed when she left the room. My attention was glued to the screen, to the words that my Annie had written coming out of the mouths of these characters. I had a sudden sick feeling in my stomach. It settled like acid in my veins. A dull ache pounded behind my eyes.

            When Molly became one of the victims of the kidnapping, when I saw the broken look spread over Sherlock’s face, I knew I was going to be sick. It was like watching Annie disappear, knowing she was gone forever. Sherlock’s pain was my pain. His frantic rush to find Molly before time ran out tore into me. All I could see was Annie. Losing her before I had a chance to say the important things.

            Lying on the bank of the Thames, her body sluggish from the drugs given to her by her captor, Molly looked up at the faces hovering over her. She saw the crown of dark curls as Sherlock bent forward, draping his long coat over her. He took her hand in his and rubbed it furiously.

            “Don’t leave me, Molly,” Sherlock said, his voice wavering as John called emergency on his mobile. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

            Molly tried to raise her hand, to open her mouth to say something. But Sherlock shushed her in a way that was both uncharacteristic and oddly human. “You are terribly important, Molly Hooper. To me. Just because you’re you. And I’m sorry I nearly waited until it was too late to tell you.”

            The episode closed on Sherlock leaning down, his face inches from Molly’s. He whispered something in her ear. And then the screen went black.

            I sat back against the sofa feeling as if I’d run a marathon. My chest heaved and ached. I couldn’t breathe.  _I’m sorry I nearly waited until it was too late… too late… too late…_  The words spiraled in my brain. Twenty-five years of memories flooded into me at once. I remembered the day the new family moved in next door, the father carrying a brown-haired little girl asleep on his shoulder. The day my whole life changed.

            Head in my hands, I didn’t realize Vanessa had come back into the room. She sat on the edge of the sofa just out of arm’s reach. Her voice was sad but steady when she spoke. “Figured it out yet?”

            I couldn’t look at her. Shame was burning its way through my body. Vanessa was a wonderful woman: intelligent, funny, successful, great with kids, and sexy as hell. But I suddenly realized she had one major flaw, a flaw that I couldn’t ignore any longer.

            She wasn’t Annie.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Present Day

            When I got to work Monday morning, there was a bouquet of roses sitting on my desk. They were white and in a beautiful glass vase. A card rested against the base. “They were delivered first thing this morning,” my secretary said, standing by the door. She smiled knowingly. “Are they from Ben?”

            I sat my purse in the bottom drawer of my desk with a smile on my face. I buried my nose in the blossoms and inhaled the amazing fragrance. Then I plucked the card from the vase and slipped it from the envelope.

             _You are amazing. I’m so very proud of you. Congratulations. Love, Tom_

            By the sound my secretary made, I could only imagine that the blood drained straight out of my face. I stuffed the card back into the envelope and dropped it onto my desk without thinking. My wonderful morning suddenly tumbled down like a house of cards.

            “No,” I said, looking at the flowers. “They’re not.”

            She took the vase from my desk and put it on the window ledge. I felt guilty just looking at them, even though their presence made me giddy inside. My months with Benedict had made me believe that I was over whatever feelings were inside me for Tom, that I had moved on with my life. Apparently I was terribly wrong.

December 1999

            I searched through the pile of gifts beneath the tree. Tom and Emma sat in the floor in front of the fireplace, both of them wearing Father Christmas hats. I grinned as I handed each of them their presents. I’d bought both of them with my own money, and I was incredibly proud of it.

            Tom pulled a small package out of his coat pocket and slid it across the floor to me. It wasn’t much bigger than my palm, meaning it was probably jewelry. Which was fine with me. It was wrapped in shiny silver paper and topped with a bright blue bow.

            “Happy Christmas, Annie,” he said, smiling. He held the present I’d given him in his lap, waiting for me to open mine first. “Go on.”

            I slipped my finger beneath the carefully folded paper, wanting to keep it intact since it was pretty. Turning it into my palm, I shook out a small black box from a local shop in the mall. When I pried off the lid, I saw a silver charm bracelet lying against white tissue paper. I lifted it out of the box and looked at the tiny charms dangling against my hand. An open book, a shiny red heart, a pair of ballet slippers, a football, a T, and an A were spaced around the tiny chain.

            Tom was grinning like an idiot as he reached out to snap the thin silver bracelet around my wrist. It fit perfectly.

            “It’s beautiful,” I sighed, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him tight. I tried hard to hold back the tears that were brimming in my eyes because I knew the heart on the bracelet didn’t mean what I wanted it to. “Thank you.”

            Emma looked between the two of us, her eyes catching everything. I think it was the first time she actually saw what her brother was too blind to recognize. She saw me staring at Tom with love crystal clear in my gaze and knew that there was something more for me that he didn’t see.

            I cradled my wrist against my chest, my fingers caressing the T, as I watched him ripping into his present. The box was heavy but it wasn’t anything much. But I hoped Tom would like it. He grinned when he saw the leather bound book inside, gold lettering on the cover proclaiming it to be a volume containing  _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare._

            “Promise me you’ll do Shakespeare plays, Tom. Promise me you’ll do  _Othello_  and  _Henry V_  and  _Much Ado About Nothing_.”

            He kissed my cheek, and I fooled myself into thinking he lingered there. “I promise.” Tom drew me close to his side and tucked my head against his shoulder. “Love you, Annie.”

            I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. “Love you, too, Tom.”

Present Day

            Benedict sat beside me in bed with the sheets bunched around his waist. I was on my stomach, my eyes closed and a soft purring sound coming from my throat as his fingers drew lazy patterns on my naked back. “It’s alright, love,” he said softly, pushing my hair off my shoulder.

            “No, it isn’t,” I replied, propping my cheek on my palm. I looked up at him and was surprised to see perfect honesty in his eyes. He meant it. He meant every word. “I’m being horrible to you. It isn’t fair for me to still feel this way about him and be with you. It isn’t fair to you. And you deserve that. You deserve all of me.”

            He slid down until he was on his side beside me, his head positioned on his hand. He stroked up and down my back with the other. “I knew what I was getting into when this started. You are wonderful.” Benedict kissed my shoulder, his teeth scraping along the skin. “I don’t plan on going anywhere until the second you tell me to leave. I told you I had every intention of making you fall in love with me, and if I have to take one little bit of your heart at a time then I will.”  
            “But what about…” I still couldn’t help feeling guilty about the joy I’d felt when I saw the flowers.

            Benedict hovered his lips over mine, his breath sweet over my cheek. “You can’t stop how you feel, Annie.” His watery-sky-robin’s-egg eyes roved over my face, uncertainty painted in their depths. “You do love me, don’t you? Do you still want to marry me?”

            I leaned forward so that my lips pressed against his. My tongue flicked slowly over his lips. “Of course.” I pulled away and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yes.” I tasted the faint remainder of sweat on his skin. “More than anything.”

            He smiled, burrowing his fingers in my hair and pulling me into a deeper kiss. “Then I don’t care about anything else.”

            The doorbell rang. Benedict’s eyes went straight to the clock which showed it was nearly midnight. He slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans while I dropped his t-shirt over my head. He went through the house first, keeping me behind him as he went to the peephole.

            “Shite,” he growled, throwing back the lock and yanking the door open. “It’s midnight. What in the fuck are you doing here?”

            Tom stood on my front step with his hands in his pockets. He looked pale, like he’d been sick. His eyes were sad, but they flared with something when he looked between Benedict and I. “Were you… shagging?”

            My face burned with embarrassment. I saw Benedict’s fingers clench tight on the door as he glared at Tom. For a moment, I thought he would slam it in my best friend’s face. I cleared my throat. “It’s none of your business.”

            He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue. And part of me wanted him to. Shame was quickly becoming a very good friend of mine. Finally, Tom said, “I need to talk to you.”

            “It. Is. Midnight,” Benedict growled. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

            Tom glanced from Benedict to me, standing just behind his shoulder. My fingers were laced with Benedict’s, my engagement ring flashing in Tom’s direction.

            “I know,” Tom said. His eyes were somber. His voice was serious. “I know what I’ve missed. Please, just talk to me.”

            I squeezed Benedict’s hand, taking strength from him just as I was giving him my assurance. “It’s late, Tom. Too late.”


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

August 2011

            The dog days of summer were heavy over the back garden. I sat on my stone patio watching the wind play through the tree in the corner. The swing seat swayed back and forth in the breeze as I sipped lemonade and ate apple chips. After working nearly nonstop for the past week, I was glad to be outside in the fresh air for a bit.

            Tom peeked his head over the garden wall before reaching over to lift the latch. He stepped over a ball Samantha had left the last time she’d been over to visit and crossed to kiss my forehead. His lips were cool, but perhaps it was because I was slightly feverish in the night air. He looked very grown up with his wavy ginger hair and beard. There were little nicks on his knuckles from the fight scenes he was shooting for  _Henry V_.

            “How are you?” he asked, lowering his long frame into the chair across the table. He tilted his face toward the sun, and I couldn’t help my eyes roving over the curve of his neck.

            “Exhausted. How’s filming?”

            He showed off his battered knuckles. “I’m getting quite good with a sword. And apparently I’m made for medieval armor.”

            I grinned, thinking of all the museums my father had taken me to when I was in school. We’d always loved history, particularly the great warrior kings of Britain. It was wonderful to see Tom actually portraying one, to be living up to his promise to me all those years ago. “Too bad Shakespeare didn’t write an entire play about the Black Prince. I think you’d be bloody fantastic in that one.”

            Tom laughed, his  _eheheheheh_  chuckle filling my back garden and turning my insides warm. “I need your help, Annie,” he said, giving me an earnest look. “I have a scene in this film that I’m not sure how to do. Help me?”

            I nodded. “Of course. What is it?”

            He pulled a folded sheaf of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “It’s between Henry and Kate, the wooing scene. You remember it? I’ve never really… this one seems different.”

            I looked through the scene, remembering much of it from reading it in third form in college. “Okay,” I said, trying to remember how I’d seen other films and plays handle it.

            Tom jumped to his feet and leaned his shoulder against mine to glance at the lines. “Try it a few times?”

            I’d run lines with him before, but this was somehow different. Standing there in my back garden, he transformed from my childhood friend into this great warrior king who led the meager forces of England against a vastly outnumbering army. He stood taller, and the expression in his eyes was at once hard and soft.

            We went through the lines, and he asked my opinion about how to do certain bits. What did I think worked best? Should he be serious here or teasing there? Louder? Softer? We tried the scene sitting down, standing up, one up and one down, until it seemed the scene felt natural to literally have Henry chasing Kate around the room as he tried to woo her.

            “Right here,” I said, pointing to the page. “This bit about ‘when I go to woo ladies I frighten them.’ Try it slightly sad. And then the last part, the ‘better I shall appear’ piece of it, be kind of cheeky. A wink maybe. You’re wooing a princess here, Tom. One who doesn’t even speak English! Be expressive. Put that handsome face of yours to use!”

            He laughed and tried it again, over and over until he felt he had it right. Then his cheeks turned pink. “There’s this part here,” he said, clearing his throat. He came over and leaned over my shoulder, pointing to a part close to the end of the scene. “Would you… I mean… could we… would it be odd if we tried it?”

            My eyes settled on the lines.  _Oh, Kate, nice customs bow to great kings. (KISSES HER) You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate._  My throat went dry. I wasn’t sure I could manage it. Could I do it without losing sight of what was actually going on? I clenched my teeth, but nodded.

            We stood in front of each other, Tom looking down at me. His eyes were dark and full of something that was indescribable. “Oh, Kate,” he said, his voice pitched low as he stood tall and proud, “nice customs bow to great kings.”

            He hovered above me, his breath warm over my face. I watched him come closer, felt my whole world tilt on its axis, let my heart tumble through my diaphragm and into the grass. Tom barely touched his lips to mine, his finger hooked beneath my chin to tilt my face toward his. My eyes dropped shut and I fought back a pleasurable sigh. He added just a bit of pressure before pulling away.

            “You have witchcraft in your lips, Annie,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. His voice came out husky and deep. Tom’s chest rose and fell beneath my palm.

            I cleared my throat. “Just like that is brilliant,” I sighed, moving backward and taking one deep breath after another. “And it’s Kate. Remember that.”

            Tom ran his hand through his hair and stuffed his other hand in his pocket. “Thanks, Annie. I… uhm… I’ll remember that.”

Present Day

             _Annie, please answer your phone._

_Ring me back. We need to talk._

_Why are you avoiding me? Talk to me, Annie. I’ve been an idiot._

_I’ll talk to Ben. He’ll understand. It’s you and me, Annie. That’s the way it always should have been. Please, please ring me._

            I threw my mobile across the room, slightly relieved that it landed on the sofa instead of smashing into the wall. My head ached from the stress of trying to figure out what to do. Benedict had gone up to his house outside the city to meet with a realtor. We were planning on moving in together, and he thought my house was much more suited for a couple. His house, he said, was too much of a bachelor pad for a woman. I could tell by the uncertainty in his eyes that he didn’t know if it was a good idea anymore.

            Tom, it seemed, had finally come around to what had been right in front of him for twenty years. He had showed up to my door in the middle of the night saying he knew, that he’d seen what he’d been missing. Everything I’d wanted for all my adult life was finally mine for the taking. I could have Tom. I could have my first love.

            But it meant hurting two good people.

            I was so confused and so very angry that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t think straight. The only thing I could do was cry. It wasn’t the horrible, loud sobbing that came from simple sadness. This was a quiet, gut-wrenching, silent keening that came from a purely broken heart. The tears dripped from my eyes and over my flushed cheeks.

            The front door opened, and I wiped furiously at my face. I didn’t want to let Benedict see me crying. He was already worried enough. It would kill me if I hurt him.

            “Ben, I thought you were going…” I stopped cold when I saw Tom standing in the doorway of my sitting room. The tears that came now were a mixture of sadness and anger. “Who the fuck said you could just come into my house?”

            Tom had the grace to look sheepish. “You weren’t answering my calls. I needed to see you. We have to talk about this.” He gestured between the two of us. “You told me where your spare key was, remember?”

            I immediately regretted that decision. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Please leave.”

            He didn’t listen. Instead, he crossed the room toward me. I took two steps back for every one he took forward. “Annie… why didn’t you ever say anything?”

            I rubbed my hands roughly over my face. “Because you never saw me! I was  _right there_  for twenty-five bloody years! You don’t even remember…” I clapped my hands tight over my mouth and sobbed.

            “What?” Tom closed the distance between us, his large hands on either side of my face. “What don’t I remember?”

            I couldn’t say it. I wouldn’t. There wasn’t any point in it. Letting those words free into the world wouldn’t change anything. They would only make things so much worse.

            “I love you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against mine. I felt small and fragile, trapped between him and the wall. “I love you.”

            “I love Ben.”

            “You promised me forever.”

            “You left me.”

            “Everything I am is because of you.”

            “Get out.”

            “Annie…”

            “ _GET OUT!_ ” I shoved against his shoulders and he stumbled back. The tears were pouring down my face uncontrollably. “ _GET OUT!_ ”


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Present Day

            Benedict found me curled on our bed wrapped in his dressing gown. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes. Instead, he climbed into the bed and tucked me against his chest. He held me tight, his nose brushing against the back of my neck. He didn’t ask what happened. It was almost like he didn’t need to.

            “I love you, Annie,” he said, squeezing me. “Your happiness is all that matters to me. Tell me what you need.”

            I didn’t know what I wanted. How could I possibly know what I needed? One was so much more important than the other. I turned in Benedict’s arms until I was nose-to-nose with him. His eyes were shining, and it took me a moment to realize he was crying too. Whether because I was sad or because he thought I was going to ask him to leave, I didn’t know.

            “Don’t leave me.” My voice broke. I didn’t want to cry, not again. I held his face between my hands and stared into his eyes. I finally figured out what color they were. They were  _my_  blue. “Don’t  _ever_  leave me. Please.”

            Something in his body relaxed. He kissed me. It was deep and wonderful and more than any other kiss before. It was a new page, a new door opening in our lives. Benedict wiped tears from my face with his thumbs. I smudged away the streaks over his cheeks.

            “I’ll die first,” he whispered strongly. “Go to sleep, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Read to me,” I said softly. “I want to hear your voice.”

            Benedict rolled onto his back, fluffing up the pillows behind his head and propping himself up. He kicked off his shoes and grabbed the worn paperback from the bedside table. A small smile tipped his lips upward. He sat the book on his stomach as he let me curl up against him, my head on his chest and his arm curved around my back. His long fingers flipped open the pages to the bookmark.

            “Chapter eleven. On the doorstep.” He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “‘In two days going they rowed right up the Long Lake and passed out onto the River Running, and now they could all see the Lonely Mountain towering grim and tall before them…’”

            I fell asleep to the sound of his voice and the deep rumble of it beneath my ear as he read to me from  _The Hobbit_. The words seeped into my bones and turned the sadness inside me to something less painful.

            When I woke up the next morning, I found myself tucked beneath the blankets still wrapped in Benedict’s dressing gown. My book poked out from beneath my pillow as if Benedict had just slipped it there when I fell asleep the night before. The other side of the bed was empty, but it was still warm. He’d only been up for a few minutes.

            I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. There were dark circles beneath my eyes. I brushed my teeth and swept a brush through my hair, twisting it up in a tangle at the nape of my neck. My gaze swept over my sink, at the toothbrush and cologne perched on the edge. Benedict’s things were slowly encroaching on the space where my things were spread out, and I was glad to see it. I didn’t think I would ever get tired of seeing his things in my house.

            Benedict was in the kitchen, standing over the stove with a spatula in his hand. He was whistling a tune that I didn’t recognize.  I leaned against the counter and watched him for a moment. The muscles of his back stretched and flexed beneath his t-shirt. His pajama pants hung low on his hips, their hems dragging the floor. I made a mental note to tack them up next time I did the wash.

            “Are you staring at my bum, Miss Gatiss?” His voice sounded cheerful. It made me smile.

            “That is a definite possibility, Mr. Cumberbatch.” He dropped the spatula on the counter by the stove and crossed the kitchen in four long strides. He wrapped his arms around my waist, tucking beneath the dressing gown.

            Benedict kissed my forehead. “Look all you like, then.” His mouth trailed down to my cheek. “I can’t wait until I can say it.” A feather-light touch of his lips against mine. “Mrs. Cumberbatch.”

            I grinned, feeling some of the leftover sadness bleeding into the shadows. “I like the way that sounds,” I sighed. I kissed him back, more pressure than before.

            When he pulled away, his tongue darted over his lips. “Did you brush your teeth?”

            “Of course,” I said, lifting my brow.

            He shrugged. “I didn’t.”

            We finished breakfast together. Benedict had made eggie-in-a-basket and bacon. We took our plates and our juice to the patio and watched the sky burn from pink to blue.

            The doorbell rang at noon. My head jerked up from where I sat on the sofa, a manuscript open on my laptop. Benedict was at the bookcase, unloading a box of his books and trying to find a place for them. He dropped the stack in his hand when he heard the sound.

            “Do you want me…?” He gestured to the door. I nodded, picked up my things, and disappeared into the bedroom.

            I heard Benedict at the door talking to someone. Only a few minutes later, he came into the bedroom. His expression was pained, like he didn’t know what to say or how to say it. I didn’t have to think too hard about what had gotten him so frustrated. He held a small white card out to me with his first two fingers.

            I didn’t want to open it. Such a large part of me wanted to just chuck it in the bin and ignore it. But there was still a place inside me that craved Tom’s words and his attention. I broke the seal and pulled out the card.

             _Please don’t tell me it’s too late. I love you, Annie. I think I’ve loved you all along. Ring me, please. Love, Tom_

            Benedict watched me, that sad look on his face again. I felt sick that I did that to him. That my actions made him question my love for him. I took a deep breath and balled the card in my fist. I held out my hand with the crumpled paper in it.

            “Chuck it out. All of it.”

            “You don’t want to see the flowers?” He looked boyishly triumphant, like he’d won a battle on the playground over the swing set.

            I shook my head firmly. And I tried very hard not to feel sad when I heard the heavy vase thunk into the bin outside.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Present Day

            When I saw the roses on my desk, I wanted to cry. Not in happiness, really, but in an odd kind of giddy frustration. I didn’t have to read the card to know they were from Tom. They were the same—presumably, since I never saw the second bouquet—as the others. White roses in a glass vase. The little white card rested against the side.

            “He used to send me those,” said the voice from the doorway. Exotic. Lilting. Amazingly-brilliant-journalist Vanessa stood there, looking so very sad. “All the time.”

            I glanced up, my finger beneath the seal of the envelope. I knew I shouldn’t even bother. The best thing to do was to just throw the card and the flowers out without attention. But I couldn’t stop that part of me that thought this was what I deserved. That I deserved Tom’s love and attention and adoration. For so long, I’d taken the scraps of what he had. Now I was the recipient of the full blast of his emotions. I wanted it so desperately.

            The card fell open beneath my fingers. I wiggled the cardstock rectangle from its prison.

             _My past is thine. My present is thine. My future is thine. And I am thine. Love, Tom_

            My chest constricted painfully, forcing a sob out of my throat. I wanted so badly to rip the card to pieces, to shred it and ball it up in the bin. But I couldn’t. Even though my fingers were shaking, I couldn’t make them move. The flowers didn’t mean anything to me just then. It was the words on that little bit of paper that meant so much. He knew. And he loved me.

            I slipped the card back into the envelope and dropped it on top of a stack of files. Then I pushed the roses toward her. “Take them. I don’t want them.”

            Her smile was devastating. My heart broke into just a few more pieces. “He doesn’t want to give me roses anymore,” she said. Her hand lifted, wiping beneath her eye. Vanessa Wallace, the woman I thought was so horribly hateful just because she existed, was crying. “All he wants now is you.”

            I looked at her like I could fix everything. That a few words out of my mouth would be enough to mend together two shattered hearts and a life that could have been happy. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’ve tried so hard to keep my promises, Vanessa. You have to know that.”

            She sank into the chair across my desk. I came around to sit beside her. “I know. I don’t blame you, Anthea. Not really. I think, deep down, Tom always wanted you. I was his subconscious replacement for you.”

            Silent tears burned a lump in my throat. “I never wanted you to get hurt. Even when I hated you, I just wanted you to go away.”

            Vanessa smiled sadly. “I’m going away. I’ll be in Colombia for the next month. By then, have this sorted out. Please?”

            “It is sorted. I love Ben”

            She looked slightly unconvinced. I couldn’t blame her. “Then make sure Tom knows that.”

             _Well, shite_ , I thought as she walked gracefully out the door. I put my head in my hands, feeling terrible in more ways that I had ever imagined possible.  _Love is a bitch._

            Uncle Mark’s car was in the drive when I came home that evening. So was Benedict’s. I smiled, glad for at least a small distraction from the mess my life was quickly becoming. I let myself in, pleased to hear the sound of their voices from the other room. They sounded like they were laughing.

            “Anthea, is that you?” Uncle Mark called.

            I grinned. “Nope. It’s the boogeyman.”

            Footsteps echoed on the floor and without warning I was swept up into a pair of strong arms around my waist. I felt Benedict’s lips against my neck and let some of the tension drain out of me like water from a rag. He kissed my neck and my shoulder, squeezing me back against his chest.

            “Then you’re the most beautiful boogeyman I’ve ever seen.” The warmth of his breath sent shivers down my spine. Despite being depressed about Tom and his complete inability to realize I had moved on and despite being glad to see Uncle Mark, all I really wanted was to have a long soak in the tub and go to bed with Benedict. “I love you.”

            I sighed, tilting my head to the side to allow him more room. His teeth pinched gently at my skin. “I love you, too,” I said, threading my fingers with his at my waist. “I love you so very much.”

            He smiled against my shoulder. “I wish Mark would go home,” he growled, his hand sliding lower over my stomach. His fingers pressed against the junction of my thighs. “I have the strongest urge to bend you over the dining room table.”

            Blood gushed into my cheeks, turning my face bright red. I groaned, my hips wiggling just because. “You’re horrible, Benedict.”

            “Oooh,” his voice was low, the tip of his tongue stroking against the tender skin behind my ear. “I like it when you say my name. Say it like that…” His teeth latched onto my earlobe and tugged gently. “… the next time…” He slid his hand further between my legs. “… we shag…”

            I bit my bottom lip and tried so very hard not to make a sound. When he stepped away from me, it felt as if I’d lost a limb. Like something that was an integral part of my being had been taken away. He was like my heart or my lungs. How could I ever have thought I could live without him?

            Benedict looked somber as I changed out of my work clothes into a pair of faded and worn-through jeans and a t-shirt I’d bought online. He always chuckled when he saw the logo on the front. I AM SHERLOCKED, it said. I thought it was appropriate. Especially since I wore it on set a few times, much to everyone’s mutual joy and entertainment.

            “Something the matter?” I asked, twisting my hair in an elastic. He sat on the edge of the bed. I stepped between his knees and cupped his face in my hands.

            “Promise you won’t be cross with me.” He looked very much like a kicked puppy.

            I bent forward to kiss his forehead. “What would I be cross with you?”

            His my-blue eyes glanced away, searching for something in the shadows at the corner of the room. “I threw out more flowers today. The bin outside is full.”

            Cold swept the heat from my face. I could only imagine that I was white as a sheet. “How many?”

            “Four dozen. Red.” I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He was just as pale as I suspected I was.

            “Cards too?” The hope in my voice made me sick, and it was a kick to the heart to see the flinch run across Benedict’s features.

            He reached into his pocket and pulled out four identical white envelopes. I recognized my name on the outside of each one, scrawled across the surface in Tom’s handwriting. He’d touched these cards. He had taken the time to write them himself, rather than having someone at the flower shop do it. My fingers itched to take them. To hurl myself into the closet and lock myself in so I could worship those words in private. Proof that Tom Hiddleston loved me, that he’d finally realized what was staring him in the face all his life.

            But I saw the hurt dancing in Benedict’s eyes and forced my fingers to stroke his cheekbone instead. He didn’t deserve to constantly be questioning whether I loved him or not. He was beautiful and perfect and so flawed that it was breathtaking. I loved every hair on his head and the little freckle on his neck and the nerdish thoughts that tumbled through that amazing mind of his. I loved him. Of that much, I was painfully certain.

            “Them, too,” I said firmly, covering his mouth with mine. I thought I could hear the cards flutter to the carpet as his hands with their long fingers settled against my sides, splayed out over my ribs. He held me close, a lifeline in the darkness.

            Beneath my hands, the muscles of his body released and relaxed. My palms slid down his neck, my thumb stroked over the little freckle on the right side of his neck, my fingers caressing the bundles of muscle beneath his skin. He sighed softly and pressed his forehead to my chest just between my breasts.

            “Are you sure you want to marry me? Still?” It was something he’d asked often in the past few months. Sometimes, it got frustrating that one answer wasn’t enough. But I knew he needed the reassurance, just as much as I needed to give it. “I want you to be happy, Annie. Even if that means you want to be with Tom instead of me.”

            I heard my heart breaking in two. The sound reverberated through my bones and burned into my blood. It made my stomach churn with something that was horribly sickening. My knees went wobbly, and it took every ounce of strength in me to stay on my feet.

            “I love you. You.” My fingers wove through his hair, now cut short and dyed a gingery, blond. “Ben, you mean the world to me. You have to know that. And I want to marry you. I  _will_  marry you. We can set a date tonight if you want to.”

            He lifted his gaze to mine and smiled, nearly every trace of his uncertainty gone. Offering to set a date was one thing I’d never done. But it seemed to be just what he needed to hear. “I don’t care when it is, as long as it’s on the Eye.”

            A smile broke over my lips, one bright enough to match his. “Deal.”


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

August 1997

            “I want to get married in Westminster Abbey,” I said, looking up at the canopy of trees over the walk. My breath huffed in and out of my chest in time with the rhythm of my trainers hitting the pavement. A CD walkman was tucked into my fanny pack, the headphones wrapped around my neck. The Backstreet Boys blared into the space between my shoulder and Tom’s.

            “D’you think you’re going to be the Queen or something?” He was barely out of breath, his long legs taking one easy stride after another. Tom had taken up running at Eton and had brought the habit home with him. And since it was practically the only time I could see him before I went to work at the shops, I’d forced myself to partake in the torture.

            I shrugged, pumping my arms to keep up with his long steps. “Who knows? You could introduce me to His Royal Highness.”

            Tom laughed.  _How does he have breath to laugh? I’m huffing and puffing over here!_  “I think I’d get thrown in the Tower if I did. You want me to get thrown in the dungeons and never seen again?”

            “Sometimes it might be a good thing. You’re so bothersome.” A stitch burst in my side and I stumbled to a stop. Tom kept running for a few meters before realizing he’d left me behind. I bent over double, my hands braced on my knees as I gasped for air. All I could see were the tips of Tom’s trainers.

            He grinned and tugged the end of my ponytail. “You’re out of shape, Annie. It’s what you get for sitting around listening to those tossers all day.” He flicked my headphones.

            “Piss off,” I snapped, pushing his hand away. Maybe it was because I was on my period, but I was suddenly thoroughly angry with Tom. “That was brilly. Apparently I need to run more so I’m in shape to run with you because I’m fat.”

            Tom looked completely aghast. If it was possible, he went pale and red all at once. “I didn’t mean… I was just  _joking_ , Annie. I swear!”

            I gave him a hard shove in the chest and stalked off toward home. I pulled my headphones back over my ears and turned the music up as loud as I could.  _Quit Playing Games with My Heart_ blasted in my ears.  _Perfect_. I suddenly hated my favorite song.

            Fingers snatched at my wrist, tugging me back. I stumbled and threw my hands out. Tom put his hand over his nose. A thin trickle of scarlet ran over his lips. “Annie! I didn’t call you fat.”

            Angry tears burned my cheeks. I slapped at his chest. “You did! You know you did!”

            He tried to hug me, but I balled up my fist and punched him in the shoulder. It was barely enough to catch his attention, but it made me feel better. “Why are you so moody? Are you… you know?” He waved his hand at my stomach, like that was the answer to every question possible.

            “Go away, Tom,” I spat, pushing him away from me and taking off as fast as I could. My legs were like jelly and the stitch in my side ached painfully. I didn’t want to look at him. Mostly because I was mortified.

            I could hear his steps dogging me all the way home. They even followed me up the steps to my front door. My hand shook as I tried to get the door open. Tom scuffed his trainers on the front stoop. “Go away,” I sniffled, smacking my palm on the door when I couldn’t get it open. “Please.”

            His hand reached for mine, fingers wrapping around mine. He squeezed. “I don’t think you’re fat, Annie. I think you’re beautiful.”

Present Day

            Twilight was quickly becoming my favorite part of the day. That was when Benedict and I were both home, when the worries of the day were dropping behind us into a pile of problems we didn’t have to look after until the next morning. We often cooked dinner together and sat on the patio watching the stars come out. It was late summer again, a little over a year since that night we stood on the London Eye and watched the city turn beneath us. My life was so much better, and somehow so much worse.

            It was a calm evening. The air was crisp and clean, almost like the way it smelled after a rainstorm. I loved it. When I got home from work, I’d changed into a pair of sweat-shorts and a t-shirt and went to sit outside. I lay in the swing seat for what felt like hours, listening to the late summer birds squealing and squawking in the trees. My hair fanned out behind me, one leg dangling off the seat to trail in the grass.

            Eventually, I got bored. But instead of going inside, I crossed the garden and climbed up on the trampoline. The mesh felt strange beneath my feet. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on it. My chest ached as I flexed my knees, felt my hips descend and raise again, the world rising and falling around me.

            Someone chuckled, scaring me to falling on my bum. I bounced a few times before settling into the lotus position near the edge. Benedict stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a sweet smile on his face. “Having fun, darling?”

            I grinned sheepishly. “More than I’ve had all day.”

            To my amazement, he kicked off his loafers and jogged across the grass in his stocking feet. He grabbed the edge and hopped on, barely missing the tightly coiled springs keeping the mesh under tension. He wobbled and rolled toward the center. Grinning, he sat up on his knees and reached out to me.

            Together, we got to our feet and began bouncing up and down. Benedict’s deep laughter swelled and crashed like waves over me. It was beautiful and intoxicating and made something warm and amazing blossom in my stomach. He took my hand and pulled me to him. My feet landed on his. He bumped his knee into my thigh. My forehead banged his chin. We were laughing so hard we didn’t hear the car pull into the drive.

            Benedict cupped my cheek in his hand and kissed my forehead where we smacked together. He smiled. “Annie, how does Christmas—”

            “What are you doing?” Tom’s angry voice filled the garden. Benedict and I jerked our heads toward the sound. There was something like thunder in Tom’s eyes. I hated how it made me feel.

            Benedict moved his body in front of me. My chest ached that Benedict thought he needed to protect me from my best friend. “Tom, this isn’t a good idea. I think you should leave.”

            Tom stalked into the garden until he was just a few feet away from the trampoline. His expression was hurt and angry and unbelieving. I thought he looked thinner than last time I’d seen him. He put his hands against the frame. “This… this is ours…” Those blue-green eyes were glassy with tears. “Loki… the ice cream… don’t you remember?”

            He looked so very broken. I could see it in the slump of his shoulders and the way his chin wavered just slightly. Things inside me went numb. My heart thumped hard against my ribs, so hard that I clutched at Benedict’s shirtsleeve to try to stop the pain. Saltine droplets wove paths over my skin.

            Benedict twisted his arm enough to grab my hand. The trampoline gave way beneath his steps. “It’s not the time,” Benedict said to his friend. “Tom, are you… are you drunk?”

            “No,” Tom spat, clenching his fingers hard around the railing. “But I wish I was.”

            Turning his back on Tom, Benedict took me by the shoulders and gazed over my face. There was a tightness around his mouth that told me he was worried. About Tom’s erratic behavior. About my own weakness where my childhood friend was concerned. About his own doubts as to my love. I didn’t know which. All three, most likely. “What do I do?” he asked. He looked so utterly helpless.

            I glanced past him to where Tom stood still, staring at the faded silver springs around the mesh. He was so silent I wondered if he was still breathing. When my eyes met Benedict’s again, I wanted to weep. Both of them looked so sad. I could fix one, but only by breaking the other. I didn’t want that power. I didn’t want that weighing on me.

            “Let me talk to him. Just for a moment,” I said, instantly feeling guilty for making the request. Benedict nodded, kissed me firmly on the forehead, and went to the patio door. He flipped the light on inside the kitchen, and I watched him lean against the counter with his head hanging. My stomach twisted.

            I crawled to the edge of the trampoline and sat down just beside Tom. “What are you doing here?”

            He glanced up at me, and I was immediately transported back to that day on the neighborhood green when he hugged me for all he was worth when his family fell apart. He was that thirteen-year-old boy without any idea of how to go on. I’d put him there. This was wholly my fault. Had I really and truly broken my best friend, the man I’d loved for as long as I could remember?

            “Why won’t you talk to me?” he asked softly. Tom didn’t hold my gaze for long. Instead, his eyes flitted across the garden, to the roses in the flowerbeds and the table where he’d turned into Henry and kissed me like I was some precious thing. His gaze lingered on the bin. I didn’t doubt that he knew all his flowers were inside it.

            I sighed. I wanted to touch him, to do something to reassure him that I loved him. That he was so very, terribly important to me. But I could still see Benedict through the patio door and was so afraid he would turn around and get the wrong idea. So I kept my hands to myself.

            “Because I just can’t, Tom,” I mumbled.

            “Don’t you love me anymore?” He slid his hand over the metal bar. His fingers brushed over the back of my hand. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

            Sparks danced along my skin from where we touched. I hated myself for feeling it, for feeling alive when he was near. “You know that you do. But it’s too late for this, Tom. You’re too late.”

            He finally looked up at me. His eyes were blazing with a feverish-like intensity. Color sat high on his cheeks. “How can I be too late? I didn’t know. It can’t be too late if I never knew.”

            I’d sworn all my life that I’d never let the words see light of day. I swore that they would stay in my head and locked in my heart as the one memory of what could have been. But there was no stopping them now. They burned up my throat and tripped over my tongue and squeezed past my teeth into the air.

            “I think it was too late when we were eighteen, Tom. When you left me that night, my birthday.”

            Confusion wrung away some of the manic energy in his face. “Your birthday? When we went to the pub? I… I don’t… what did I do?”

            I steeled my nerves and looked him square in the eye. It was time the words came out, and it was time that he saw the truth of what I’d actually carried with me for the past fifteen years. “You told me you loved me. We… we…” I felt sad and somehow proud at the same time. “We slept together. Then you left while I was asleep.”

            He stumbled like I’d struck him. “I don’t remember…” The way Tom took me in was completely new. Like he’d never seen me before. Or like he was trying desperately to remember how I looked naked. “How can I not remember?”

            “We were drunk, Tom.  _You_  were totally smashed. When you didn’t say anything… when you acted like nothing even happened, I figured you thought it was a mistake. That it didn’t matter.” I bit my lip hard.

            Tom was quiet for a long while. I stared through the patio door. Benedict still stood in the kitchen, but he had turned toward us. He watched sadly, arms crossed over his chest. I couldn’t fix the two pieces of me. One part wanted to rush into the house and throw myself into Benedict’s arms. The other wanted to just walk away with Tom and never look back.

            “Were you…?” Tom’s voice was soft and gentle, caressing over my skin. I rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of it. I felt guilty just letting the joy near me.

            I nodded.

            Before I knew it, Tom’s hand curled behind my neck and his lips were soft against mine.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Present Day

            Tom’s mouth was soft and unyielding as it moved over mine. He sucked gently at my bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and tracing his tongue over the sensitive flesh. My heart turned over and plummeted. I put my hands against his shoulders, wanting to both push him away and pull him closer.

            Benedict grabbed Tom by the arm and tore him away from me. I covered my mouth to hold back a scream as Benedict shoved my best friend against the garden wall. “What. The. Fuck. Tom!”

            “Stay out of this, Ben.” Tom’s face clouded with anger when he looked at Benedict. But his eyes softened when he saw me. It was like looking into the face of the boy I’d loved.

            “Hell no!” Benedict shoved Tom again, smacking him up against the wall hard enough to snap his head back. “You had your chance!”

            “I didn’t know!”

            “Tough luck! I’m done watching you break her.”

            “I didn’t mean to!”

            “Stuff it.”

            “Annie loves me!” Tom shouted the words like they were the answer to all the world’s problems. He pushed back, the muscles in his arms flexing with the force.

            A crack appeared in Benedict’s façade. His eyes fractured into pain and uncertainty. Then something burned into in his gaze. Anger twisted his features. There was a flash of movement and Tom reeled back. A bright red mark bloomed on his jaw. Benedict clenched his fist at his side. A gash opened on one of his knuckles.

            Tom’s blue-green eyes went wide. I watched in slow motion as he threw a punch of his own. My feet moved and I went crashing into the nearest man. My best friend tumbled to the ground, but not before a sharp snap of pain rocketed through my skull. Something wet cascaded down the side of my face.

            I scrambled back onto my knees feeling dizzy. Little flashes of light danced in front of my eyes.  _Oh God, it hurts!_

            Benedict slid his arms around me, pulling me to my feet. He turned my face up toward him so he could get a good look. A hiss shot through his teeth as he turned my face to each side. He kissed the already purpling spot on my forehead. “Are you alright?”

            I started to nod, but pain shot through my skull. My stomach rolled. I curled against Benedict’s chest as he tightened his grip. “I’m fine.”

            My gaze slid to Tom. He’d pulled himself off the ground, but he looked like he was going to be sick. His face was pale and grey. “Annie, I… it was an accident… you… you got in the way…”

            “Go home, Tom,” I said, clenching my teeth against the throbbing in my brain. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

            I didn’t see him go. Benedict took me inside and sat me on the side of the bed while he cleaned the gash on my forehead with alcohol and peroxide. The spot beside my eye was tender and starting to swell. I’d have a bruise by the next morning, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if I had a black eye.

February 2012

            “You have to come,” Tom said, his voice giddy and excited on the other end of the phone. He sounded like he’d just gotten finished with a run. “The Criterion Theatre tonight. I’ve got a ticket reserved for you at the front desk. Please say you’ll come.”

            I looked at the clock, trying to figure out how much time I had until I got to leave for the day. “You couldn’t have told me about this a week ago? What if I had plans?”

            “Oh, come on, Annie! You’ve never missed a single play I’ve done. And this one… it’s one night only.”

            Rolling my eyes, I saved the document on my laptop and powered it down. I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I walked around the office, gathering up the things I’d need to take home if I wanted to get to the theatre in time. “One of these days, Thomas, you’re going to press your luck.”

            He chuckled, his little  _eheheheh_  that drove me crazy sometimes. “One day, maybe, but not today. So you’ll be there?”

            I sighed. “Yes.”

            The ticket was for the center of the fourth row. I’d picked a pale blue skirt and a white jumper to wear. Everyone else around me was dressed similarly, dressy casual. At least I wasn’t going to stand out.

            The house lights flickered and went down. A spotlight came up on the stage, followed by some low toned stage lights. There was a bed in the center, a mattress really. It looked more like a cot than anything else. Tom entered from stage left, wiping what looked like a handkerchief over his forehead and on the back of his neck. He wore a pair of work books, dark blue canvas-looking pants, and a white sleeveless undershirt. His face and arms were smudged with dirt.

            From the second he opened his mouth, I was enthralled. His voice was so very different. It was deeper and husky and the accent made it so rough. I felt the air around me turn sweltering hot, thick with humidity and the smell of dirt and sweat. A wide Southern sky opened up with a thousand stars over my head.

            For just a moment, I was lost in a clapboard house in the Tennessee countryside. Tom was Chicken, and I desperately wanted to be his Myrtle.

            When the house lights finally came up, it was hard to stand. My legs were weak and my heart was racing against my ribs. Tingles and sparks ran along my skin and turned my nerves inside out. I’d always loved listening to Tom speak, but seeing him like this—listening to him talk about sex—it turned my brain inside out. As much as it hurt, all I could think about was that night. The one night we had together.

            I was waiting in the lobby like I always did after one of Tom’s plays when I heard my name being whispered. Tom’s curly blond head showed around the edge of the stage door. He stuck his hand out and waved me over. “Annie, quick! Come here!”

            Glancing around, I giggled and ran toward him, slipping into the darkened hallway before anyone noticed. He grinned and took me by the hand, drawing me toward the soft lights of the stage. The house lights were off, and the stage was lit by the soft incandescence of pale bulbs in their oyster sconces by the orchestra pit. The mattress sat shrouded in shadows.

            “Look at this,” he said, pulling me toward the center of the stage. He stood behind me, his hands against my ribs as he turned me to face the rows of empty seats. It looked as if the chairs went on forever. The balcony loomed above me like a hanging cliff face. “It’s the best view in the world. And I saw you, right there.”

            He pointed to the center of the fourth row. The heat coming off his body soaked into my back and joined the ache burning in the cradle of my hips. I remembered his voice, the words he spoke, and I wanted to melt with him onto the mattress.

            “It’s brilliant up here,” I sighed, turning myself in circles. I could see why this was something he loved so much. One shot, one go, and dozens upon dozens of people to watch you get it right. Stage acting had to be a huge rush. I turned toward him and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring up at me. “What?”  
            Tom put his hands on his knees, rubbing them furiously on his canvas pants. “You look like Myrtle. In that skirt.”

            “I’m not going up to the attic with you, Chicken.”  _Fuck. Where’d that come from?_

            He grinned, his voice turning deep and rough. “You reckon there’s nothin’ I can do to change your mind?”

            I needed to get home.

I needed to get home and lock myself in my bedroom.

I needed to get home and lock myself in my bedroom and think about my best friend in his dirt-and-sweat stained white undershirt and his voice like that and the things he said.

Tom brushed his fingers over my hip. I nearly jerked at the contact, praying deep inside my soul that this was going where I thought it was. That we’d run out of the theatre, hail a taxi, and go back to Tom’s flat. Then we’d make up for ten years of lost time. But his hand came away with a loose string from the hem of my jumper.

“You were great, Tom. As always.” I smiled, trying to ignore how breathless I sounded.

“Only because you were here.”


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Present Day

            Tom rang to apologize. In fact, he rang everyone to try to get through to me. He rang my mobile, the house phone, Benedict’s mobile, Anthony, my parents. The first three weren’t answered when his number appeared, and the last two were actually shocked to find out Tom and I had a row. Apparently he didn’t tell them it wasn’t he and I who were fighting or that he’d actually hit me. I didn’t tell them otherwise.

            The full force of Tom’s punch hadn’t struck, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. The blow had glanced off the side of my head when he was going to punch Benedict in the jaw. Unfortunately, it still had enough umph to give me a gash on my forehead, a horrible, sickly purple bruise, and a partially black eye.

            I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think I would have cried, but it just hurt too much.

            Benedict was livid. For two hours after Tom left, he paced through the house with a murderous look in his eyes. I’d never known Benedict to be a violent man—neither of them had ever been particularly prone to fighting, really. But just then, I knew if my best friend had walked into the house, my fiancé would have nearly killed him.

            I took a day or two off working from the office to let the bruising go away. When I called my boss and my secretary, I told both of them that I had some wedding things to take care of and would be working from home for a few days. They were both so surprised that we’d “set a date” that they didn’t argue.

            I sat in bed with my laptop open on my thighs and my headphones in. Even though we hadn’t actually agreed on a date, I was listening to songs to find our first dance. After watching that terrible video on YouTube, I was quite certain it wouldn’t be  _Thriller_. As funny as it was, I wasn’t looking for Benedict to make a repeat performance.

            He dropped his bag by the bedroom door and crawled onto the bed beside me. He’d just taken a role in a play in London and was working on recording a new audiobook. My Benedict looked tired and so very worn.

            Sitting my laptop on the bedside table, I snuggled down against the pillows beside him. His eyes were closed, but his hand reached out for mine. His fingers closed around my wrist and brought my fingers to his lips. “I love you, Ben,” I said, letting my gaze dance over the face I loved so well. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

            Benedict opened his my-blue eyes and smiled sadly. “I love you, too, Annie.”

             _Why, oh why. did I sense a ‘but’ there?_

            “What’s the matter?” I heard the panic bleed into my voice. My hand turned in his. I grasped his fingers with both hands, holding it against my lips. A sudden terror tore through my body like a bullet. If he left me, if he walked out of my life because of Tom’s foolishness, I’d fall apart. I’d hate Tom forever. 

            But I’d hate myself even more.

            “Ben?”

            His gaze swept my face, lingering on the healing bruise. Pain flared in his eyes. “I don’t ever want to lose you. I don’t care about anything else, but I can’t lose you.”

            My lips found the tips of his fingers. I squeezed his hand with both of mine. “You’re not. I’m not going anywhere. The rest doesn’t matter. It’s you and me, that’s it.”

            Benedict looked equally hurt and relieved. I don’t know if I had just made things better or worse. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something else, but no sound came out. Instead, he pressed forward and drew me close. His hand wiggled from my grasp and slid down to my hip. Those beautiful, long fingers dug into the flesh just below my waist, holding me tight to him. I felt his breath hot against my skin in the second before his lips crashed into mine.

            It was a kiss that was wholly primal. It was bruising and desperate and longing. His tongue swept my lips, prying them apart. The taste of him exploded through me, setting fire to my nerves and my muscles and my blood. He groaned against my mouth and flexed his body forward as if he couldn’t get close enough. The hand on my hip slid down, wrapping around the curve of my thigh and hitching my leg over his hip.

            “Annie,” he sighed, digging his fingers into my skin. They burned his fingerprints into my bones. “Say you’re mine. Please. Just once.”

            I splayed my hands on his chest and pushed, his grip on my thigh taking me rolling with him. My hips settled just over his, my body draped over him. I let my palms slide up over his shoulders and up his gloriously long neck. My fingers wrapped in his hair and pressed into the mattress. His hands stroked the outside of my thighs and the curve of my hips before settling on my bum. He held me down, solid and firm.

            “Yours,” I whispered, catching his bottom lip between my teeth. “I’m yours. I’m here with you.”

            He groaned and one hand burrowed into my hair and held my head in place as his tongue plundered my mouth. It was beautiful and frightening. A kiss that consumed my soul and gave it back as some new, wild thing. Benedict growled and tugged at the hem of my shirt. Highly aroused speak for  _take this off now!_

            We broke apart, panting as if we’d been sprinting. Benedict pulled the shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor. His own followed a second later. He sat up on his knees, pulling me with him. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he gently twisted my head back, presenting my neck to his gaze. His eyes were hungry, predatory as they raked over me. After a moment’s deliberation, his lips went to the pulse at the base of my throat and sucked.

            I buried my hands in his hair, forgetting about the frustration and the confusion. Right then, this was what we needed, this moment together, these touches and sounds. I felt a flutter of fabric against my skin as the clasp of my bra released. Benedict practically yanked it off me. My hands went to the button of his jeans, but he moved back before I could work it free. He tugged on my hair, arching my back and presenting my breasts to him.

            His mouth was oh-so-hot against my flesh. Benedict kissed me, ran his tongue over my nipples, and scraped his teeth along the soft swells. Then his mouth descended, tracing the outline of my torso. I moaned aloud, pressing my fingers into the bag of his head.

            Suddenly, he let go of me. His eyes were glassy and heated. Wild. I felt the heat and the need pool between my thighs. It was an overwhelming desire that only he could quench. “Come here,” he growled, yanking me back into his arms almost the second he let me go. We fell onto the mattress in a heap, limbs entwined, mouths searching. Somewhere in the melee my shorts disappeared.

            Benedict was suddenly behind me, his hands everywhere at once. He pressed his hips into me, stoking the fire that turned my insides to something delicious and wanton. I whimpered, grasping the pillow and digging in with my nails. It was a wonderful sort of torture. Then he curled my legs forward and pulled my top thigh back over his legs and his jeans were gone and he was inside me and  _oh God_  it was brilliant.

            His breath was burning against the back of my neck as his cock thrust in and out, his hips meeting mine in a slow rolling. His grip on my thigh and his arm beneath my body held me in place, keeping me immobile. There was nothing I could do to ease the ache inside me. I was completely at his mercy and I’d die if he stopped.

            “Mine,” he grunted against my skin, his mouth touching my shoulders and my ears. “Mine.”

            He was slow and unstoppable, churning me into a bundle of nerves and want and need. I wanted to cry. I wanted to beg him to never take his hands off me again. I was there and his hand slid between my thighs.

            “Benedict.”

            He shouted my name as he spilled inside me, and I followed him into the oblivion.


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Present Day

_Benedict’s POV_

            I watched her sleep beside me. I felt her cheek against my chest as I held her close to me. Her breath was warm over my skin and her hair damp against my arm. She looked peaceful when she was asleep, and I wondered what she was dreaming about. Was it me? Or was it Tom? I touched her temple gently, trying not to wake her. The bruise was fading fast, but the anger at seeing it there was as fresh as the day Tom punched her—accident or not.

            Annie stirred, tucking herself closer to my side. I felt every inch of her silken skin, every soft swell of her form. She draped her arm over my stomach in sleep. Her fingers flexed against my stomach and smoothed out against my chest. A sigh burned its way straight toward my heart.

            “Ben…” My name on her lips was the best sound in the world.

            I kissed the top of her head and sank against the pillows. For just a few moments more, I looked down at her, at this woman who was beautiful and creative and so very wonderful. I knew her. I might not have known all of her past, but I knew her present. And I desperately wanted to know her future. After a moment, I turned off the bedside lamp and gathered her into my arms. She sighed again, wiggling close beneath the sheets. I couldn’t tell whether she was dreaming or not when she spoke.

            “Forever.”

Present Day

_Tom’s POV_

            She was wrong. It wasn’t too late. It could never be too late.

            Not for us.

            I sat in my flat at the dining table where I was supposed to be working. There were at least a dozen scripts there, stories that were waiting to be read, people whose minds called out to mine and asked if I could give them solace. But my own mind was too much of a tempest to know how to handle anything else. All I could do was stare at the knuckles of my right hand and wonder how it had come to this.

             _How could I not remember something like that?_  I thought, delving deep inside for a memory I already knew wasn’t there. But I wanted it to be. I wanted to remember what it was like to hold Annie in my arms, every inch of her bare skin flush with mine. I wanted to remember how it felt to be with her, inside her, wrapped in her embrace.  _How did I forget something like that?_

            I picked up my mobile and flipped through the photographs. There we were at Christmas, right before the world opened up to my eyes and I saw the truth. I could see it there, gazing into her moss green eyes.  _Had she always looked at me like that?_

            We smiled and laughed, our faces scrunched together to take the photo. Her face was beautiful, the smile she flashed at my iPhone was transcendent. She looked so happy. So perfect. She was the same Annie I’d always known, but somehow she was so very different. Like I was seeing her through brand new eyes. The color on her cheeks. The fullness of her bottom lip and the curve of her smile. The brownish-green tint of her irises and the long sweep of her eyelashes. Even the little freckles that traipsed over the bridge of her nose. I’d never known they were there before.

            I took in her smile, and I wondered why she was so happy. Knowing what I knew now, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because I was there with my arm around her and my cheek against hers. Or was it because she was truly in love with Ben?

            My thumb slid across the screen, scrolling to another snapshot. Searching for another picture of Annie, I passed a picture of Vanessa. She was beautiful in her own way. Exotic where Annie was familiar. We posed in nearly the same way as Annie and I had, but the picture seemed wholly different. I wasn’t struck by Vanessa’s beauty the way I was by Annie’s. I didn’t feel that squeezing in my heart when I looked into her eyes.

            I felt saddened by the way things were with her. Vanessa Wallace was an amazing woman. She was intelligent and she deserved something brilliant. I thought we could be happy. I  _was_ happy with her. Until I realized how Annie felt about me. Until I realized how I felt about her. Vanessa didn’t deserve to wait around for me to come around to her, and she certainly didn’t deserve me being with her when I wanted to be with Annie. It wasn’t fair.

            All these years, I’d never noticed, never seen the way Annie looked at me. Like Molly looked at Sherlock. Had she really looked at me like I was the one who hung the stars? Had I, for so long, been the complete and utter center of her universe? Was I still?

            She wasn’t answering when I rang. I didn’t want to go back to her house. Part of me didn’t even want to see the front door of that place again. Not when I’d seen her laughing in Ben’s arms on the trampoline where we’d had so many memories. Not when my hand had gone so far off course that it bruised her. I wanted to take her out of that house and buy her one that was everything she ever wanted. I wanted to sweep her to Westminster Abbey and marry her. I wanted to disappear to some tiny island where no one knew us, where we could start all over again.

            A knock echoed through the flat. I was so unhappy, so grey-and-bleakly miserable that I didn’t want to move. I didn’t care who was at the door or what they wanted. The best thing for them was to just go away. A key rattled in the lock and a blast of cool air wafted past me. The door slammed hard back into its frame.

            “Thomas William Hiddleston!” My sister’s voice bounced off the rafters and smacked into my eardrums. Emma stalked into the dining room with anger bristling in her slender frame. “What the hell have you done?”

            I barely glanced at my baby sister, who looked so much like me. My stomach turned. I was very close to vomiting my breakfast onto the rug. “Mucked everything up.”

            “That’s putting it lightly!” Emma slammed her bag down on the dining table, sending scripts flying in all directions. “You’re the most brilliant idiot I’ve ever met, Tom. Honestly!”

            My chest ached. Just like it did when I went for a long run and overdid it. The space between my ribs constricted. “I got into a row with Ben.”

            Emma huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Bit more than a row as I hear.” She grabbed my chin and turned face, revealing the fading bruise on my cheek. “You went to blows. And Annie got hit.”

            “It was an accident.”

            My sister looked as if she wanted to smack me. It wouldn’t have mattered if she did. My heart was so full of pain and ache that I was numb to everything else. I wouldn’t have felt it. “Accident or not, I should beat the daylights out of you for being such a tit. You’re so desperate for what you want now that you’re not paying attention to what she wants. What are you playing at?”

            “A second chance. That’s all I want.” I stared into the distance, not seeing anything but the memories of the past twenty-five years. Annie in her winter formal dress, looking like a heroine from a novel come off the page. Annie running up the stairs to my student flat at Cambridge and curling in my bed that night like we were children again. Annie coming down the aisle in her parents’ back garden during Anthony’s wedding. She looked so beautiful with flowers wound in her hair.

            Emma thumped me in the chest hard enough to get my attention. “You are making her miserable, Tom. Stop this. Now!”

            “I love her, Em. Don’t you get it? I see it now. How I couldn’t do anything without her. How I was so nervous at a performance until I saw her in the audience. I’ve loved her every second of every day for years and never knew it.”

            “Then stop doing this to her. You don’t see anything more than what you want, Tom. Sometimes you’re so selfish. If you love her,” she said, leaning down close. Emma was a formidable foe when she was angry. “If you love her, then leave her alone. Annie deserves to be happy. She’s spent enough of her life dropping anything and everything for you.”

            She couldn’t have hurt me worse if she’d plunged a knife into my heart. I ached all over, this bone-weary, soul-crushing despair that was too much. “I didn’t…”

            “You’re doing it right now!” Emma shouted and backed away, pacing my dining room. She was working herself up into quite a fury. “You want her to drop everything in her life because you’ve decided you’re ready to love her. She’s  _happy_ , Tom. She’s  _engaged_. To one of your best mates. If you want to keep either of them in your life, you’ll straighten your shit out and do it double time.”

            I ran my hand through my hair, unsure what to say. There were words enough in my head, but none of them would string together right. I didn’t know how to explain. “It’s supposed to me Annie and me. Forever. She was… when we… I don’t remember, but she says she was a… that I took… it’s supposed to be me and her.”

            “You should have thought of that before you met Vanessa. Now you’re making two people miserable. Fix it. I don’t care what you do, Thomas. But fix it.” She scooped up her bag and pointed her finger at me. “And so help me, big brother, if you fuck this up, I’ll disown you.”


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

September 2004

            Mum looked like she was going to cry. I dabbed a tissue beneath her eyes. “You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

            She smiled. “Anthony’s happy, you think?”

            I grinned right back, looking out the glass door at my brother standing at the head of the aisle made in our back garden. He adjusted his tie and pulled on the cuffs of his dress shirt. It had been a long time since I’d seen him in a suit, but he looked nice. He was twenty-six and getting married.

            “Over the moon, Mum. I swear.” I made sure Mum had her flower pinned in the right place. “He and Cheyenne are perfect for each other. Absolutely perfect.”

            The door opened behind me and Tom poked his head around it. His blond curls were horribly bright against his dark suit. He smiled, his cheeks rounding. “They’re ready, Mrs. G.”

            Mum looped her arm around Tom’s and let him lead her to her seat in the front row. I knocked on the door to the sitting room where Cheyenne was getting dressed. Her sister, Sierra, peeked out. “They’re ready.”

            Sierra held the door open and I caught my breath at my sister-in-law in her dress. She was beautiful. Just like a fairy princess with a fragile lace veil and a silk gown. She had reddish-blond hair and wide brown eyes. A perfect match for my dark-toned brother.

            “You go first, Annie. Make sure Tom doesn’t trip.” Cheyenne grinned nervously, her hands flitting around her face to push off imaginary flyaway hair and readjust her veil.

            I nodded and backed out of the room to find Tom waiting in the kitchen. He looked so handsome in his black suit with the white rose on his lapel. “Look alright?” he said, holding his arms out at his sides. I sat my bouquet on the counter and straightened his tie.

            “Perfect,” I said, my hands against his chest. He smelled like sandalwood and musk. It made my heart rush blood into my face. I picked up the bouquet and turned in a circle. “What about me?”

            Tom tucked a bit of loose hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering down my cheek. “Amazing.” With a flash of his grin that I loved so much, he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

            The door to the garden swung open and we stepped into the aisle. Anthony smiled, his nervousness evident in the set of his shoulders. I smiled back at him, mouthed  _bogeys_ , and wrinkled my nose. He jerked his hand to his face and scowled when he realized he’d been tricked. Luckily, there were dozens of witnesses and there was nothing he could do.

            Tom and I parted at the end of the aisle. He went to stand by my brother while I stood behind Sierra. I kept sneaking peeks at Tom during the ceremony. He smiled that cheeky little smile and made faces at me trying to get me to laugh. No one else noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything.

            I teared up when the minister declared them husband and wife. My brother and my new sister-in-law walked hand-in-hand down the aisle, followed by Sierra and my brother’s Best. Tom and I met in the aisle, and I hooked my arm through his. He leaned close. “There’s going to be cake, right? And dancing?”

            Rolling my eyes, I stepped into the house and dropped my bouquet into the vase Cheyenne had given me as a bridal party gift. “Yes. But don’t you embarrass me, Tom.”

            He kissed my cheek and took the rose off his jacket. He gently tucked the bloom into my hair. “I’m Fred Astaire, baby. You just try to keep up.”

            We made our way to the front drive where a line of cars waited up and down the street to take us to the reception hall. We’d taken the bridal party photos earlier that day. Anthony and Cheyenne were in the garden taking their pictures and would be along shortly. Mum and Dad piled into our car and waved for me to hurry up.

            “She’s riding with me!” Tom called, wrapping his hand around mine. He pulled me toward his car, the one his father bought him when he graduated from Eton. He held the door open for me and helped me tuck the tail of my dress out of the way.

            He followed my parents out of the neighborhood toward the church reception hall. Tom kept one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around my fingers. We were twenty-three, a bit too hold to be holding hands like children when we were excited. But it felt so nice that I didn’t say anything. Maybe the wedding had latched on to Tom. Maybe he’d say it again, those words that made my world and broke my heart in one night.

            “That dress is brilliant,” Tom said. It was a pearly sort of blue with a matching half jacket and shoes. “You in blue… it’s brilliant.”

            “Cheyenne picked it.”

            Tom spared a glance at me, his thumb stroking the back of my palm. “Remind me to thank her.” He suddenly looked away, his face going horribly red. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

            My heart dropped just a bit. “Which explains why you kidnapped me into your car.”

            “Cheeky girl. I’ve got this… thing… at school. It’s a banquet sort of… thing. I have to go because a bunch of alumni are going to be there and they may be great acting contacts. I’m already nervous as all shite, Annie. I can’t do it alone.”

            My heart did little bitty jumping jacks. “What do you want me to do about it? Find you a date? Can’t you pull on your own?”

            “Again I say, cheeky girl. No,” he said, glowering at me out of the corner of his eye. “Go with me. I’m never nervous when you’re around. It’ll make the night a breeze.”

            I looked out the window, watching as familiar structures went by. “When?” I tried to keep my voice calm, but inside I was dancing with glee.

            “Next Saturday. You can come up Friday night on the train and stay with me. Like Cambridge. We’ll spend the day together and go to the banquet that night.” Tom gave me those pleading blue eyes. He drew my fingers to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Please?”

            What was I supposed to do? I was supposed to go to the cinema with my friends Brooke and Ashley. But I could blow them off to spend a night with Tom. They would understand. I’d make sure they did.

            Tom needed me. And that was all that mattered.

Present Day

            Benedict stood at the doorway of the bathroom as I tucked my hair into a bun. His bags were on the bed, and a taxi was on its way. He leaned against the doorframe and swept his eyes over me. It was my first day back to work in the office after the debacle in the garden. I didn’t want to go, but I’d done as much as possible from home. It was time to get back into the office.

            I felt weak in the knees looking at him. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked, his hands in his pockets.

            My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. It wouldn’t work, wouldn’t let the words make their march out past my lips. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

            He shifted. “Do you want me to stay?”

             “Go, I’m a big girl, Ben.”

            The corners of his mouth twitched up sadly. He crossed the bathroom and kissed me softly. “I love you, Annie. I love you.”

            All around me, the room began to spin. It turned on its axis and tipped sideways. I thought I was going to faint. “I love you, Ben.”

            Benedict stroked his fingers over my cheek and down my jaw. He touched his thumb to my lips before turning and walking away. I heard him pick up his bags and shut the front door. My chest constricted. I listened to the taxi drive away with Benedict inside.


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Present Day

            I wasn’t sure what I was doing. There wasn’t a single dimension in the vastness of the universe where this was a good idea. But I couldn’t ignore the last voicemail on my mobile. The sound of his voice, so sad and broken, was too much for me to handle. I had to see this through, I had to put myself to the test to see if I could look into his blue eyes and hold on to myself.

            The restaurant was quiet as I walked through behind the hostess. It was dim except for the lights hanging over each table. His back was to me, but I knew it was him by the expanse of his shoulders and the way his knees were visible on either side of his chair. The hostess sat my menu on the table, drawing Tom’s attention away from his inner thoughts. He stood when he saw me, his gaze immediately going to the barely-there mark on my temple.

            “I was afraid you weren’t going to come,” he said, waiting until I sat down. He didn’t reach out, he didn’t try to hug me or touch me. It was both disappointing and relaxing to not have the pressure.

            “I told you I’d be here,” I replied, scanning the menu. “When have I ever let you down, Tom?”

            He looked like I’d slapped him. “Never.” His voice was quiet. When the waitress came by, I ordered a glass of wine and a plate of shrimp pasta. Tom ordered a Guinness and steak. Although, by the look of him, I didn’t know if he’d even be able to take more than a few bites.

            I crossed my hands in my lap, letting my eyes take him in. He looked so much like he had when he lost all the weight for Adam. I hated that I’d done that to him. That I’d turned him into this unhappy, completely miserable person. For so long, I wanted him to see me and love me like I loved him. Now that he did—now that he was consumed by that love—I was so confused.

            “How’s Ben?” Tom tried to smile. I could tell by the way his lips started to curve up, but it didn’t go all the way to his eyes. Tom had always had a smile that made me melt. This time it just made me sad.

            My heart constricted at the thought of Benedict. I missed him so much that it was a physical ache inside me. Like a part of me had been torn away. “Good,” I said with a sigh. “He’s in Cardiff. New  _Sherlock_ starts filming Monday.”

            His eyes locked on mine. “I’m sorry, Annie,” Tom said, sincerity in his voice. “I’m sorry for everything. For all these years.”

            I twisted my fingers together to stop them shaking. “Why are you doing this, Tom? Don’t you see I’m happy?”

            His hand twitched like he wanted to touch me, but he drew his arm back. It would be a lie to say that I didn’t want him to touch me. The desire was so deeply a part of me that I hardly recognized it as something other or outside of myself. I held tight to my skirt to stop me from reaching for him.

            Tom swept his hand back through his hair. It was longer again and straight, the black locks brushing against his ears. We didn’t talk as much as we used to, but I gathered enough to know he was getting ready to go to Los Angeles to film  _The Crow_. There was a time in our lives when we would have celebrated together, and I would have teased him about having such a big role to fill.

            “Emma told me to fix this,” he waved his hand between the two of us, “or she’d disown me. Apparently I’m a selfish bastard.”

            My first reaction was to assure him that he was amazing and perfect. But my brain shut that response down. Instead, I looked him square in the eyes. I fought to keep my voice from breaking. “Yes. Yes, you are.”

            It was the first big step I’d made since I told him it was too late for the two of us. It was time I told him the truth. No matter how ugly it was.

            “Annie… why didn’t you ever tell me? There were times I thought there was something, but I wasn’t sure…” He took a great sip of his beer and looked me over. “I liked holding you. Kissing you. You were always there. You were always mine, I suppose.”

            I felt the sad smile slip onto my face. “I tailored my life to yours for so long, Tom. You asked me to drop everything and I did. I ignored so many people and things for you, because I thought—I hoped—you would finally see me. I spent four years of college and four years of university alone because I was waiting for you. It was always you.”

            His jaw clenched, and I recognized the expression he got when he was about to cry. His chin wavered and tears pooled in his eyes. “Is that why you slept with me that night? Why you never said anything?’

            “I loved you so much that I was willing to take whatever you would give me. And I was afraid you’d tell me it was a mistake.” I took a few moments to eat, needing something in my stomach to settle my nerves. When I finished, I tried to keep my voice steady. “That’s why, Tom. I wanted you to want me so badly that I let you walk all over my heart just for a scrap of your attention.”

            Tom finally leaned across the table and took my hand. His thumb brushed over the tender skin of my wrist. “You were so beautiful.  _Are_  so beautiful. I should have told you.” I felt my heart thunder against my ribs. Eyes closed, I thought about Benedict waiting for me in our Cardiff flat. I thought about the future and not the past. Tom sighed. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember. That’s one memory of you I’d give anything to have.”

            I knew I was blushing. “Don’t.”

            “You’re the only one… the only…” He cleared his throat, ran his hand through his hair. “Do you regret that I was your first?”

             _The truth, Annie,_  I thought. “I regret that I was so blinded by you. That I let myself get used all these years.”

            Tom sat back, that horribly sad expression on his face again. “I never meant to use you, Annie. I just wanted you there. You were everything. Absolutely everything.”

            “Then you should have told me. Maybe we wouldn’t be here if you had.”

            We sat in silence for a long while. I didn’t know what else to say. I was on my second glass of wine. My head was starting to swim. I was suddenly afraid of myself.

            I folded my napkin and sat it on the table beside my half-empty plate. “I should go,” I said, not even trying to keep my voice strong.

            “I want to remember,” he said. Four little words that rushed through me, tearing down the wall of strength and self-preservation and self-respect I had around my heart. His gaze on me was hot and frightening. Too much for me to take. To ignore. “I’ve never wanted anything this much.”

            My hands shook. I didn’t think I could support my weight if I stood up. Every muscle in my body was limp. I tried to remember Benedict’s scent, the feel of his arms around me and his breath against my skin. But it was difficult. All I could see was Tom leaning over me, the length of his body pale against mine. I covered my face with my hands.  _No. No. NO._

            I pushed myself up and picked up my coat. I would walk away. Benedict was waiting for me. He deserved my honesty, my love, and my faithfulness.

            Tom caught my hand as I walked by. His fingers threaded with mine. “I want to know. One night, Annie.”

            Every inch of my heart ached. Every word out of his mouth ripped it further and further into pieces.

            “Please."


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Present Day

            Cardiff was just as I’d left it. It was Saturday, and Benedict was waiting for me at the train station. He must have just come straight from the set because he was wearing a heavy black coat over his Sherlock coat. His eyes were tired, their my-blue irises slightly faded. But he smiled when he saw me step off the car.

            He enveloped me in his arms and pulled me tight against his chest. The smell of his cologne swept over me. It was so cold outside and he was so very warm. I buried my nose against his shirt, wound my arms around his waist, and snuggled beneath his jacket. His lips touched my hair and my forehead. Benedict nuzzled my cheek, begging me silently to look up at him. My head tipped and his lips descended.

            Warmth spread through me, reminding me of cold nights in front of a fire. It was home and love and everything right and mine. Benedict hugged me tight and swept his tongue over my lips. He hummed against my mouth and slid his hands down my back. “I’ve missed you.”

            I smiled and burrowed closer to his chest. “It’s been so quiet at home.”

            Benedict laughed, his deep voice cascading through my veins like ambrosia. He kissed me again, took my overnight bag from my shoulder, and led the way back to the car. The studio driver smiled warmly to me when I slid into the back seat beside Benedict. “Good morning, Miss Gatiss.”

            “Morning,” I said, propping my head against Benedict’s shoulder. His arm went around me to cradle me to his side. “How’s your wife, George?”

            “About to pop, Miss.”

            “I can’t wait to see the baby. You have to ring me when he’s born.” Benedict’s hand stroked up and down my arm.

            When the driver dropped us off outside our Cardiff flat, I felt like I was coming home. It had been almost a year since I’d been in the little flat where Benedict and I had first lived together, and it was like stepping into an old life. One where things were so much simpler than they were now. Benedict had the French doors open. Every available surface was covered with flowers. Sterling roses. Yellow roses. Tulips. Tiger lilies. Every blossom I’d ever told him I loved was strewn all around our flat.

            “I love you, Ben,” I said, turning and jumping into his arms. He grinned and threw his arms around me and held me off the ground. My lips pressed kisses to every bit of his face I could reach. “I love you so much.”

            Benedict tugged me closer and I felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. He was breathtaking and heartbreaking and all mine. “I was afraid…” That deep rumble I loved so much broke. He sat me on my feet and cupped my face in his hands. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back to me.”

            I dug my fingers into his shirt and pulled his face down to mine. “Nothing could keep me away.”

            That night, as I fell asleep wrapped in Benedict’s arms, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander. My thoughts went to places and times they never should have. To parts of my memory and my wishes that it would have better for me to wall off forever. But they were so deep and so wonderful that there was no getting away from them. No losing them to the sanity of it’s-safer-for-my-heart-to-forget.

            Tom stroked his hand slowly up my arm, his fingers burning paths of fire on my skin. He looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was in front of him. I could feel his gaze on my face, down my neck, across my breasts and down my stomach. My conscience screamed that I needed to leave. That whatever was about to happen was a horribly bad idea. But a primal part of my brain flipped the override switch. All I wanted was for his touch to follow his gaze.

            We stood in his bedroom, the two of us together by the side of the bed. I couldn’t breathe. Tom’s chest was rising and falling like he’d done a marathon. His fingers trembled against my arm. I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling the muscles stretching and tightening beneath his skin. Without warning, he jerked me closer. His lips were on mine and sent a brand into my soul.

            Tom’s hands moved, fingers clenched around my hips as he pressed our bodies together. His kiss was demanding, making up for all the time we’d lost. The tip of his tongue licked the part in my lips and forced its way inside. It was hot and dizzying and I couldn’t breathe and I didn’t want to. My fingers clutched at his hair, tilting his head just so, holding his mouth to mine. He couldn’t keep his hands still. He swept them up my back and down again, pushing them beneath the hem of my t-shirt and stroking my bare flesh. They descended below the waistband of my jeans, ventured beneath the silk and lace of my knickers.

            He groaned against my mouth, his fingers flexing, kneading the curve of my body as his tongue worked magic on my being. It was like all the circuits in my brain were firing at once. Sooner or later, all the fuses would blow.

            Tom pulled back, panting. Without a word, he swept his hands up, gripping the hem of my shirt and yanking it over my head. He backed against the bed and sat on the edge, drawing me over between his knees. Those long fingers stroked my stomach and up to cup my breasts that were spilling over the top of my bra. He leaned over, kissing the tops of my breasts and tracing his tongue along the valley between. His teeth nipped gently, then his fingers and lips soothed the ache. The sensation of his touch through the lace was more than I could handle.

            “Tom,” I sighed, pushing my hands over his shoulders and gathering his shirt in a bunch in my fingers. I wanted it off. I wanted all of it off. I wanted to see him again, the way I had that night. I gripped his jaw and turned his face up to mine, kissing him feverishly. “Off.” I jerked the shirt over his head and down his arms. “Off.” I tugged at the buckle on his belt and the button on his trousers. “ _Off!_ ”

            The sound that came from Tom’s throat was one I’d never heard before. It was animalistic and primal and deep and  _holy fuck_  it went straight through me. He smirked, the curve of his lips pressed against my breasts as he snapped the button on my jeans and dropped the zipper. Before I could get a single breath his hand slipped inside, his fingers pressing between my thighs. That sound came again as he touched me, one finger stroking against my slick folds.

            “Mmm,” he hummed against my flesh, sending vibrations straight down to meet his finger ghosting over my clit. His mouth closed over my nipple as his finger pushed inside me.

            I lost all conscious thought. It was just gone. There was nothing but his touch and his mouth and the sound of his breathing. Tom pushed a second finger inside me, stroking and stretching me until I couldn’t breathe. I ached. I wanted. I  _needed_.

            He pressed his thumb against my clit and I came undone. My back arched and his tongue tripped up my chest as his other hand curved around my back. “Tom… Tom… Tom…” His name was a chanting mantra of a prayer on my lips. All I could see were his eyes. All I could feel were his hands.

            All too soon his hands were gone, and I felt empty and bereft and alone. He smiled up at me, the smile that made me melt and fall in love. He kissed me, his lips making a trail from my mouth up to my ear. His voice washed through me as his hands pushed my jeans and underwear down my thighs. “I’ve got memories to make up for. I want to make you come until there’s nothing left in your heart but me.”

            I kicked my jeans off and sighed when his fingers ghosted over my limbs to draw my bra from my body. I stood in front of him, naked and terrified and more aroused than I ever thought I could be. He let his trousers fall to the floor and I saw him again. He looked so similar but so very different. His skin was pale and smooth, but he was a man now. Moaning deep in my throat, I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked.

            “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunted as my hand slid up and down his length. His eyes widened as I sank to my knees in front of him. My tongue lapped out, flicking over his flesh and making him shudder. I kissed him and parted my lips.

            Tom hissed and gripped a handful of my hair as my mouth worked up and down his cock. His eyes were closed, rolled back in his head. Every panting breath that escaped his lips washed over my body, immersing me in a fire of desire and lust and more than I had ever known.

            His hands tightened and he tugged gently, pulling my mouth off his cock. He tucked his finger beneath my chin and guided me up to my feet. Tom’s lips found mine, his tongue explored the cavern of my mouth. “I need you,” he whispered, his voice husky and dark. “I need to feel you.”

            Gently, he pushed me back on the bed and crawled up after me. My shoulders hit the pillows, my hair fanning out around my head. Tom gripped my ankles and spread my legs, his fingers tracing patterns up my calves and across my thighs. He leaned over, head bent, and lapped his tongue over my core. I bucked off the bed, a low keening sound tearing from my throat. He smiled and probed his tongue inside. It was too much and not enough.

            Suddenly he was kneeling with his hips nestled between mine. I felt the head of his cock against my entrance and I lifted my hips. He rubbed against me, hissing, as he twined his fingers with mine and stretched them over my head. His weight pressed me into the mattress. His breath was hot against my neck.

            My hands ran up Tom’s arms and around the back of his neck. I pulled his lips to mine as he flexed his hips, burying himself inside me. It was bliss and perfection and more than anything. He began to move slowly, his limbs shaking. Tom rolled his hips and held me down and I never wanted it to stop. “I love you,” he panted against my flesh. “I love you, Annie.”

            “I love you, too, Tom.”


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Present Day

            I jerked up in bed, my chest aching and my breath coming in great gasps. I sat up with my head in my hands and sweat pouring down my face. There was no doubt in my mind that I was bright red. And I honestly thought that one touch would make me go crazy. Tears joined with the sweat and I found myself sitting on the side of my bed sobbing until I couldn’t breathe.

            Benedict grunted in his sleep and rolled over, reaching for me. His hand groped in the empty space on the bed. When he didn’t find me, he scrambled up, his my-blue eyes sweeping the room in search of me. I felt his hand on the small of my back and his cheek against my shoulder.

            “What’s the matter, love?” He kissed my shoulder and slid his arm around my back. “Nightmare?”  
            I wiped the tears from my face and tried to forget what I’d just had in my head. Part of me thought I could still feel Tom’s hands on my body and his voice in my ears. Part of me just wanted to forget I’d ever seen the dream. I cleared my throat and nodded. “Dream woke me up.”

            Benedict twisted my torso so that I faced him. There was stubble on his cheeks and along his jaw. I brought my hand up to touch his face, stroking the warm roughness of his skin.  _He_ was here.  _He_ was the man who loved me and was the furthest thing from selfish I’d ever seen.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” He closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against my palm. His breath washed over my wrist.

            “No,” I said softly, forcing a smile. “I just need some tea and some fresh air. Go back to bed. I’ll be back in a tick. I promise.”

            I climbed out of bed and tucked myself in Benedict’s dressing gown. The lights were off and it felt like so long since I’d been in the Cardiff flat. I had to put my hand against the wall and feel my way to the door so I didn’t trip or bang my shin on something and wake up the whole block. My fingers groped for the light switch in the kitchen, and I blinked as I adjusted to the glare of the light.

            Water in the kettle. Kettle on the stove. Mug from the cupboard. Tea from the pantry. I moved in little jerks of motion. Like I couldn’t complete an entire series of events in one fell swoop. I had to do it one bit at a time just to make sure I did it right. The sound of Benedict turning over in bed was loud in the small flat.

            Once the kettle boiled, I poured the water over the bag sitting in the mug. It didn’t taste the same as with regular leaves, but I didn’t have the focus to do much more at the moment. I took my tea to the balcony and leaned against the railing as I sipped my tea. My heart bump-bump-bumped in my chest as I watched the late night traffic on the street below. I couldn’t get the dream out of my mind. And I didn’t like the way it made me feel.

            I thought of Tom and wanted to cry. He was so much a part of me, so much a part of my life that I couldn’t imagine a world without him. I knew what he wanted from me. And if he had come to me a year ago and told me he loved me and he wanted to be with me, I would have jumped at the chance. If he’d asked me to go to bed with him then, I would have went to bed with him and never left it. But now… now I had Benedict and I loved him so much that it made me ache inside. Benedict was kind and sweet and sexy and intelligent and gentle. He had never asked me for more than I could give. He’d been patient. He’d been more loving than any woman had a right to deserve.

            I loved him desperately.

            But something in the back of my mind rose up, a little voice I hadn’t heard before. It wiggled to the forefront of my attention and cupped its hands around its mouth.  _Are you staying with Ben because you love him? Are you sure you love him? He doesn’t know the things Tom knows._ It whispered and yelled and sang doubts into my ear. Once it started, once I gave that first little bit of attention to it, the voice wouldn’t stop.

            Frustration ran over my skin and seeped like venom in my veins. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to have the man I loved and my best friend in my life. But it looked to be impossible. To have one, I had to lose the other. Someone would end up broken, someone would end up settling and unhappy.

            And I hadn’t even thought about Vanessa. She was stuck in Columbia in a sick sort of limbo where she didn’t know if she was coming back to a fiancé or a man who was leaving her for another woman. My heart broke for her. Somehow, I couldn’t quite remember why I disliked her so much to start with.

            My tea was cold and my hands were shaking. A scream was building in my chest and clawing its way up my throat. I scrambled into the flat and slammed the door behind me. Benedict’s dressing gown got caught between the French doors. I tugged and at it, so angry and hurt and the tears so thick in my eyes that I couldn’t see to open the door to free it. The scream ripped through my muscles and fractured my bones when a loud ripping sound echoed in the flat. I fell forward onto my hands and knees, shaking and sobbing.

            “Fuck!” Benedict shouted, flicking on the light in the sitting room. He rubbed his knee and limped across the room. “What happened?”

            My mouth hung open as I gasped for breath, tears streaming down my face and dripping onto the carpet. I dug my fingers into the floor so hard the ends of them went white. Any harder and I would have ripped the nails clear from their beds. Benedict sat down lotus style in front of me and pulled me into his lap. His arms wrapped around me, gathered me up with the torn remnants of his dressing gown, and kissed the tears from my face. He rubbed his hands roughly over my back.

            “Breathe, Annie. Take a breath.” He touched his palm to my sternum and rubbed, just enough to cause discomfort. I gasped, oxygen flooding into my lungs. “Good girl.”

            I threw my arms around his neck and gasped in the scent of him. The words were out and growing before I could grab their tails and drag them back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ben.”

            Benedict kissed my cheeks and stroked his fingers over my ribs. “For what, sweetheart?”

            “I… I… I slept… I slept with Tom.”

            He went suddenly stiff, and I felt his body unconsciously move away from me. I felt sick. Benedict’s voice came out in an angry hiss. “When? While I was gone? When you went to lunch with him?”

            My hands pressed against the sides of my skull, wanting to squeeze the memory of the dream out of my brain. “In here,” I whimpered. “In my head. In my dreams.”

            The sound that came out of him was like a laughing cry. He tugged my hands away from my head and pinned them against his chest with one hand. The other gripped my chin gently and pulled my mouth to his. Our lips touched gently, and I could taste the salt on our skin. His cheeks were as wet. The thought that I’d betrayed him had broken a damn inside of him, letting the tears loose into the light.

            “Oh, Annie.” He squeezed me tight and kissed me again. “Don’t do that to me. I thought…” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a dream. A dream doesn’t bother me.”

            Benedict hugged me to his chest and carried me back into the bedroom. He tucked me into the bed still in his torn dressing gown and climbed in beside me. His arm slid over my waist and threaded his fingers with mine. Gently, he pulled me back against him. The pillows were piled beneath us so that his head settled just above mine. I felt his kiss on the back of my skull.

            “I want to be part of your dreams, Annie. I want to be the man to give you anything and everything you need. Anything you could ever desire. But if you’re with me when you’re awake, I can deal with anything else.”

            My breath hitched as I tried to speak. I closed my eyes as tears squeezed out. All I wanted was to be happy. To have a life that was worthwhile and happy and shared with the man who meant more to me than anything in the world. “Ben, let’s get married. Really and truly. Set a date.”

            “Name the day. I’ll be there with bells on, my darling.”

            “Christmas. A Christmas wedding on the Eye.”

            Benedict kissed the spot behind my ear that made me feel weak in the knees. “Done. You tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure you get it. I’ll make sure the bloody Queen is there if you want her to be.”

            “I just want you,” I sighed into the dark. I pressed my body back to his, molding my form to settle against his. “That’s all I want. Just you.”

            I felt him smile, felt the stretch of his lips and the rush of his breath against my skin. His hold around me tightened. “You have me, Anthea Gatiss. You have every atom of my heart, body, and soul. All of it. I am wholly and utterly yours.”

            The sudden urge to look into his eyes swept over me. I rolled in his arms, turning until my knees bumped against his. The ends of our noses touched. Only an inch separated our mouths. “Whatever happens, I love you, Benedict. More than I ever thought possible. I think I’ve loved you since that first night… since you looked at me in the window and said I was beautiful. If you’re mine, then I’m yours. I promise.”

            His lips hovered over mine, his breath mingling with mine as he spoke. “Promise?”

            “Forever.”


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

December 1998

_Tom’s POV_

            I knocked on the door, probably too softly to be heard since the sound of a dozen voices flitted out the windows. Annie’s brother, Anthony, was having a Christmas party with some of his college friends and she’d invited me. I wondered if it would be awkward being in a room with so many other people I didn’t know. I hadn’t gone to the same college as Annie and Anthony, so I didn’t know any of their school friends.

            The door swung open and Annie stood there, a Father Christmas hat askew on her hair. There were faint streaks of red and green in her brown locks, and I wondered what her parents thought of it. I wondered if it was permanent or some of that wash in dye that came out and stained your towels a day later. She had on this red jumper and a denim skirt that was short—I mean,  _short_. I couldn’t help but look at how long her legs were.

            “Baby Jesus!” she shouted over her shoulder, laughing at some joke or something from the other room. “So, pizza. You said thirty-five quid right?” She was talking before she even turned her head in my direction. Her slim fingers dug into the little pocket of that short skirt and I couldn’t help but look. I saw a bit of her tummy above the waistband.

            When she finally looked up and saw it was me, she caught me looking at the way her calves flexed when she hopped from foot to foot. “Geeze, Tom. It’s freezing. Get inside.”

            I’m sure I had a goofy expression when she grabbed my arm and yanked me into the house. She hugged me, enveloping me in a scent of cherries and shampoo. Her lips were tinted red, stained with cherry juice. What was with the thought in my head wondering how the fruit would taste mixed with her lips? This was Annie! My best friend. I wasn’t supposed to think… those things… about her.

            Annie led the way through the house and I followed behind. Suddenly, it was hard not to stare at the way she walked. I had to keep pulling my eyes up to the back of her head or down to her heels. My brain decided all I wanted to look at was her hips.

            The sitting room was packed full of people. Anthony was leaning against the edge of the armchair with a cup in his hand and a group of people gathered around him. He waved when he saw me. “Happy Christmas, Tom!” he called before turning his attention back to his friends.

            “Pizza should be here soon,” Annie said, turning around to face me and walking backward. Her cheeks were a perfect pink. The tint was natural because it deepened when she saw me grinning dumbly at her. “If you’re peckish.”

            I’d been starving when I stepped out into the back garden. But now I couldn’t even think about eating. I was thinking about something else. “Huh?”

            Annie giggled. Her brown-green eyes danced. “What’s the matter, Tom?”

            “Nothing.” I shook my head. My thoughts chimed with  _eyes up eyes up eyes up_  as she leaned against the mantle. “What’d you do to your hair?”

            “It’s for Christmas.” She picked up a lock of her hair and looked down at it. “Don’t you like it?”

            I tiled my head to the side and took a good look. “I guess. Why’d you do it?”

            “Because Tony dared me to. And Mum went completely mental, so it was worth it.” She filled two plastic cups with a cherry red punch. Annie leaned close and whispered conspiratorially. “Tony and Robbie already spiked it. I’ve had four already.”

            One sniff of the punch was enough to convince me there was more alcohol than punch in it. Annie was giggly and flushed, and somehow incredibly pretty. I always thought she was beautiful, but there was something different about her.  _When had Annie become such a pretty girl?_

            Someone turned on the stereo and music pounded through the floors. Anthony and several of his friends pushed the sofa and the other furniture out of the way to make a dance floor. Couples gathered in the empty space, bodies pressed close and grinding together. I was suddenly embarrassed because I wanted to dance with Annie.

            Like that.

            “Little Anthea,” said a tall guy coming toward us. He looked like a rugby player. He was huge. “What’ve you been up to, Annie?”

            She grinned at him, emboldened (I hoped) by the alcohol in her system. Annie twirled the end of her hair around her finger.  _Was she flirting?_  “Oh, you know me, Will. Always causing trouble.”

            “Ah hah.” He sat his cup down and took her hand. “Come cause some trouble.” He flashed her a wide smile and she giggled before handing me her cup and following him toward the other couples.

            My stomach felt queasy. Like I was going to be sick. The feeling made my chest burn. And it only got worse when I looked out and saw Will with his hands on Annie’s hips and his knee wedged between her thighs. She laughed again and threw her arms around his neck. The music pulsed and they danced, their hips swaying and rolling toward each other. Then she turned around, her back against his chest.

            I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it.

            I hated it.

            I wanted to punch him square in the nose.

            He had his hands on Annie. Where he shouldn’t. Nobody should touch Annie like that.

            Not my Annie.

            Before I knew what I was doing, I had stalked across the room, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her down the hallway and out into the back garden. She jerked her hand away from me, fury sparking in her eyes. “What the hell, Tom? Why’d you do that?”

            “Because he… that wanker… he had his hands…  _all over_ you!”

            She crossed her arms and shivered.  _Don’t look at her chest._  “So what? We were dancing.”

            I’d never been so angry in all my life. I couldn’t explain it. “He was practically shagging you in front of everyone!”

            Annie’s face went completely pink. She slammed her hands into my chest and shoved me back against the banister. I threw my hands back to catch myself before she sent me in a tumble into the rose garden. “It’s none of your business!” she shouted. She thumped me in the chest again, hard enough to leave a bruise. Her eyes were shining. A tear spilled over her lashes and painted a black-tinged trail down her cheek. “Go back to Eton, Tom. Leave me alone.”

            She started to turn away, but I grabbed her around the wrist and tugged her back. Annie crashed into me, and I felt every single soft curve of her body against mine. I dug my hand into her hair and pulled her close and I kissed her. I tasted the cherry punch on her lips and wanted more. My tongue licked her lips. The intoxication I felt had absolutely nothing to do with alcohol.

            Annie pushed against me, half-heartedly pounding her fists against my chest. Then her hands were on either side of my neck and fisted in my hair and I was holding her off the ground with my arms around her back. Her tongue touched mine. I lost it. Especially when her legs went around my waist. That little denim skirt was around her hips and her body wrapped around mine just like our tongues.

            “I love you, Tom,” she panted, a glazed look in her eyes. My heart turned upside down.

            The light clicked on. Annie pushed herself out of my arms and stumbled when she hit her feet. She was straightening her skirt when Anthony poked his head out. “Pizza’s here. You’ve got the money, An.”

            She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and followed her brother inside.

            “I love you, too, Annie.” But there was no one there to hear.


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Present Day

            Uncle Mark hugged me like I was a little girl the second I stepped on the  _Sherlock_  set. He had his earphones draped around his neck and his Mycroft suit on. “Anthea, dear,” he said, grinning. “Martin’s been asking for you. He’s in his trailer over there. Go!”

            Laughing—and more than a little confused—I ran across the set and knocked on the door of Martin’s trailer. After a second or two, he popped the door open and grinned down at me. “Annie! Good to see you. Come in, come in! Ben’s mucking about in wardrobe. Apparently the deer hunter hat has gone missing.” He winked at me and waved me to the little sofa built into the side of the trailer. “No one knows where to find it.”

            We both grinned. “If anyone can find it, Sherlock can.”

            “Don’t tell him that. He’s been broody since he put the coat on.” Martin flipped open his laptop and turned it around. It took me a moment to realize it was a fan blog about the show. The screen showed a discussion board with the title  _S3:E3 When I’m Gone_. “Fan chat about your episode.”

            I gulped, feeling more nervous than I had when the episode actually aired. “What does it say?”

            Martin beamed like he was looking at one of his children. “There’s a hundred and seventy-six pages, Annie. And nearly every single person thought it was brilliant.”

            “Do you just… surf the internet looking for things about the show?” I couldn’t quite get that information into my head.  _A hundred and seventy-six pages of people thinking my episode was brilliant?_  “I don’t even want to know what kind of things you find out there. I don’t… I can only imagine… no. Just don’t tell me.”

            With a smirk, Martin poked his chin out. “One word. Johnlock.”

            I devolved into laughter, falling over in an effort to keep myself together. I wiped my eyes because I was laughing so hard. “Seriously?” I scrunched my nose and gave the idea a bit of thought. “Well… I can see it.”

            He pointed his finger at me. “Don’t you dare. You get to write another series finale and you are  _not_  going to make me kiss Ben. I won’t do it.”

            “Cross my hearts,” I said, swiping both index fingers over my chest in an X shape.

            Martin rolled his eyes. “Script writer wasn’t enough for you, huh? Now you’re a bloody fucking Time Lord.”

            I threw a grape from the bowl on the end table. It smacked him in the arm. “For all you know, I’m the twelfth Doctor. Now tell me what you’ve been telling Uncle Mark about. He said you wanted to see me.”

            He closed his laptop and leaned forward with his elbows on the tiny table. I saw the typed synopsis of my episode sitting on the other side of his computer. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Martin raised his eyebrows and pointed to the paper.

            The sobering effect was instantaneous. I sat up and cleared my throat. “It’ll be a good episode,” I said firmly.

            “I don’t doubt it. But this one won’t be easy. The ending… Ben may think too far into it.”

            I sighed. “I know. That’s probably why he’s been moody today. He just saw the synopsis, he didn’t give me a chance to explain the ending. It’d be one thing if we’d talked about it or even had a row about it. But he just picked it up and walked out.”

            Martin gave me a hug and kissed my hair like a big brother. “He’s a bit too much like Sherlock sometimes, yeah? Very mercurial.”

            “Then I have mercury poisoning.” I cracked a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I know. My fangirl is showing again. You’d think sleeping with Ben would get rid of some of that. Apparently not.”

            “Remind him how to be himself. He needs that sometimes.” A PA knocked on the trailer door saying they were ready for Martin in makeup. He chuckled as we both stood. “At least I don’t have to stand for an hour and have a hairy foot boot glued to my leg.”

            I laughed loudly as I stepped out of Martin’s trailer and turned toward wardrobe. Hopefully Benedict would still be there. The set was much the same as it had been the year before, but there were some new faces. They’d brought in an actress to play John’s girlfriend, Mary. I hadn’t seen much of her, so we actually hadn’t been properly introduced. Part of me wanted to go seek her out and say hello, the rest of me figured I had more important things to deal with at the moment.

            Benedict was just coming out of the wardrobe trailer as I came around the corner. I could see what Martin meant by my fiancé being moody. His face looked dark, like thunderclouds were drifting across his features. His my-blue eyes were dark and stormy. Benedict glanced at me dangerously before walking past me without a word. I opened my mouth to speak to him, but he just cut his gaze away from me and stalked toward where Uncle Mark sat behind a bank of monitors.

            I followed him, desperate to get him alone for all of two minutes to explain the episode. It didn’t mean what he thought it did.  _Shite_ , I thought angrily,  _it’s just a damn television show!_

            Before I could stop myself, I came to a halt in the middle of the street and crossed my arms over my chest. “Stop being a child, Ben,” I shouted. Every PA and grip stopped what they were doing and looked between me and their star. He scowled and looked down at Uncle Mark with an exasperated expression. “Don’t pout.”

            Whatever he was doing with Uncle Mark, Benedict dropped it and crossed back to me in what felt like a few strides. His gaze swept over me, part angry and part hungry. “What do you think you’re doing?”

            “Trying to get your attention since you won’t listen to reason.” I grabbed the lapels of his long Sherlock coat. “It. Isn’t. What. You. Think.”

            “Then what is it?” Benedict sighed, pushing himself closer until he loomed over me. He was so tall. So intimidating. His eyes were predatory.

            I huffed. “A television episode!”

            He looked around, making sure no one else could hear what he was about to say. “In which you bring back Irene Adler. Just when things are settling down for Molly and Sherlock? What am I supposed to think, Annie?”

            “That a bit of personal experience makes things seem more real? That doesn’t mean I’m making some grand statement about our relationship because of the way the episode is going!” I kept my voice low, even though I was whispering loud enough for people around us to stop to listen. “Stop being so bloody dramatic!”

            “Stop shouting at me!” Benedict hurled back. His hands closed over my arms, his long fingers digging into my flesh. “I haven’t done anything!”

            “Damn right! You didn’t give me a chance to explain anything.” I wanted to smack him. But the hunger blazing in his eyes tore through my anger. I felt a tingling rush spread through my limbs and dance along my nerves. “You can be such a tit sometimes, Ben!”

            He let out a loud, frustrated growl. Without warning, he dragged me across the set toward his trailer. “We’re not doing this in public.”

            I had to run to keep up with his long stride. He yanked open the door of his trailer and pulled me inside. The second the door slammed shut, he pushed me back against it and grumbled. “Bloody fucking woman.”

            Then his lips were on mine.


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Present Day

            Benedict pressed his body against mine, pinning me to the door of his trailer. His mouth was bruising and demanding. His tongue stroked against my lips and slipped against my tongue as he groaned into my mouth. It was almost like he was frantic for my touch. He ground his hips against me, and I could feel his cock getting harder against my stomach. My hands fisted in his shirt and his hair, heedless of the fact he would be going on camera any minute.

            His lips traced a path down my neck. The sharp sting of his teeth was immediately soothed by the warm swipe of his tongue. My head fell back against the door. I couldn’t breathe. I pushed my hips forward, needing friction, needing something. I bit back a moan, afraid someone would hear.

            Suddenly, Benedict’s hands were everywhere. They were on my hips, tugging at the button on my jeans, skimming over my back, caressing and squeezing my breasts. He was a madman intent on touching every inch of me. Within a moment, he had my zipper undone and his hand between my thighs and his fingers were there and he was biting down on my neck as he pushed them inside me.

            “You’ll be the death of me, Anthea,” he growled against my ear. His other hand snatched at the loose bit of my ponytail and wrapped it around his fist. I felt his tongue slide down the side of my throat.

            I rocked my hips, grinding down on his pumping fingers and his thumb searching for and finding my clit. It was a breathless and timeless forever when he looked down at me with those lust-possessed my-blue eyes and growled. “I love you. Even when you drive me fucking crazy, I love you.”

            He drew his hand away, leaving my dangling over the precipice of desire. I thought my brain was going to implode when I saw him put his fingers to his lips and lick them. My whole body shuddered. One touch, one touch was all I needed and I’d be lost forever.

            Benedict kissed me again, his tongue invading my mouth as he wrapped his hand in my shirt and pulled me toward the little kitchenette. He worked my jeans over my hips and down my thighs before spinning me around so my back was against his chest. His cock was hard and his bucking hips rubbed the cloth-covered length of him against my ass.

            “Hands out,” he said in warning, just before his large palm on my back pushed me over. Before I knew it, I was propped up on my palms, bent over the table in his trailer. My entire body vibrated with need and the urge to cry out, to beg him to just get it over with and fuck me. I gripped the edges of the table and bit my lip, my head thrown back.

            There was the sound of a zipper and fabric rustling. And then he was there, the glorious length of his cock pressed against the softness of my skin. He rolled his hips, teasing me, as his fingers dug into my hips. I tried to push back, but he held me still.

            “Say it,” Benedict growled, kneading his hands into my flesh.

            “Please.” My voice was a broken tumble of syllables riding the wave of a shuddering moan.

            His hand slid between my legs again, his palm pressed against me.  _Just a little more pressure_. “Please what?” He slowly dragged his fingers up my slit.

            “Please fuck me.” Tears threatened to spill over I needed him so badly.

            No preamble, no sweet gestures. Just a thrust of his hips and he was deep inside me, stretching and filling me in a way that was familiar and all too new. He pulled back and thrust again, quickly finding a rhythm he liked. My thighs jarred against the table hard enough to leave red marks and bruises, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the orgasm building to curl my toes and turn my thoughts to mush.

            Benedict leaned over me, his weight pinning me to the table as his mouth settled by my ear. Every panting breath and strangled groan flowed into me and rode my blood down to the bundle of nerves throbbing in my core. He was saying things I’d never heard him say before, but they were glorious words that grabbed my shoulders and threw me off the cliff into an orgasm that exploded through every fiber of my being. I was putty in his hands and it was brilliant.

            He pounded into me, riding out my orgasm and chasing his own. It wasn’t long before he grunted my name and held my hips tight to his as he spilled himself inside me. Benedict sighed against the nape of my neck and kissed the back of my ear. Then he pulled away and I could hear the sounds of him getting dressed again.

            It wasn’t until I was buttoning my jeans and trying to calm my breath that I realized he’d just fucked me while wearing his  _Sherlock_  costume. And it was one of the best orgasms I’d ever had in my life.

            Benedict smoothed down his hair and straightened the wrinkles in his shirt in the mirror. Then he flashed me his easy, warm smile before stepping out of the trailer. When I peeked out the curtain, he was standing just a few feet away talking to Martin.

            I could have sworn I heard his co-star say, “Feel better?”

            Even from where I was, I saw the color bloom bright on Benedict’s cheekbones. “Much,” he replied.

            Martin looked back at the trailer and had the cheek to wink when he saw me in the window.

            I sank onto the floor and gathered together the every-which-way bits of my brain. God, I loved that man.

            When Benedict came back to the flat that night, I was already in the kitchen making dinner. My hair was tucked in a bun and I was walking around in a pair of sweat-shorts. Benedict chucked his bag in the corner and kicked off his trainers by the door before coming into the kitchen. His hair was damp from his shower on the set.

            “Hello,” he said, giving me this formal sort of look. It might have worried me if it hadn’t been for the mischievous grin tilting his lips. He actually blushed.

            I grinned back, doing my best to look bashful. “Hello.”

            He cleared his throat. “About today… I don’t know what got into me… it was…”

            “Magnificent.” The word rushed out. A breath and a prayer. It was amazing.

            Benedict’s brows shot up. His mouth even dropped open a bit. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so surprised. He dipped his head as if he was going to kiss me, but then his eyes caught the shadows over my thighs. A straight strip of purpling bruises stretched over the front of my legs. He gulped. “Dear Lord, did I do that?”

            I couldn’t help myself. I was thirty-three, but I giggled like I was thirteen. “And I thanked you for it. Best orgasm of my life.”

            His back straightened, and he looked suddenly very proud of himself. “Oh really?”

            “Really. And after having shagged you near constantly for the past year and a half, that’s saying something.”

            Benedict grinned. “You’re a brilliant woman, Anthea.”

            I kissed his cheek, felt his fingertips brush over the bruises. “And don’t you forget it.”


	34. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

December 1998

_Tom’s POV_

            I didn’t wake up on Boxing Day. I had been awake all night thinking about Annie. The whole concept confused me, really. I mean, usually, I thought about Annie when I thought about home. When I was at Eton and lonely. Or sometimes when I was just thinking about random things. But this kind of thinking about her… this was different and I didn’t know what to do.

            I’d been afraid to stay at the party the night before. Instead, I just left my jacket inside, jumped the garden fence, and went home. I practically dunked my head in a sink full of ice water and fell into bed afraid to blink. Thoughts swirled in a fog through my head. All I could see was Annie. That Father Christmas hat on her streaked hair and that skirt that was just… so wrong it was right.

            “Gah!” I shouted, rubbing my hands hard over my face. That damn fucking skirt. It was shorter than anything I’d  _ever_ seen Annie wear, but I suddenly realized that I liked it. Well, I liked that she wore it so I could look at it. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of some other bloke looking at it. “Get your shit together.”

            I rolled out of bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, my head in my hands. Thinking about what happened last night after I left the party wouldn’t do me any good. All it would do was drive me crazy thinking about what Annie might have done. And what I wish I’d stayed to do.

            My tongue darted over my mouth. I could still taste the cherry punch and alcohol on her lips. I wanted to taste it again. In fact, I wanted to taste it every day for the rest of my life. That was it. The easiest decision I could have ever made.

            I threw myself off the bed and grabbed a pair of trainers, running down the stairs at a break neck pace. The sun was barely up. No one else in the house would be awake. I honestly didn’t care that the front door slammed back into the wall when I threw it open. I’d just had an epiphany, the greatest epiphany of my young life, and I had to tell someone.

            I had to tell the most important someone.

            Most of the cars outside Annie’s house were gone. I was glad for the fact that there wouldn’t be an audience. My heart ran circles around my ribcage. I was entirely certain it was going to be hell to tell Annie. One look at me from those mossy-green eyes and I’d turn into a blithering idiot. Dear God, was that what I was going to become? A little puppy dancing around her feet all the time?

            Glad no one was watching, I nodded, feeling the tight blond curls on my head bounce. Annie’s puppy?

            So be it.

            I climbed over the garden fence and knelt down in the wet grass. Since Anthony had gone off to university, Annie had moved downstairs into his basement bedroom. I reached down and knocked on the window loud enough that Annie would hear. I could see her asleep on the bed, her long legs— _Jesus, when had they gotten that long_ —peeking out from the blankets wrapped around her body. Her green- and red-streaked hair was tangled over the pillows. I wanted to curl into the bed beside her and hold her.

            I tapped on the window louder and watched as she stirred, rolling over and kicking the blankets off. “Shite,” I whispered, gulping. She was sleeping in nothing but a t-shirt and her knickers. I squeezed my eyes shut and smacked myself on the cheek.  _Stop thinking about Annie’s underwear. Stop thinking about Annie’s underwear. Stop thinking about Annie without her underwear._

            She jumped and hugged a pillow to her chest when she saw me. Her cheeks flamed brighter than the red painted in her hair. She looked halfway between scowling and grinning at me. I pointed behind me, gesturing for her to come to the kitchen door. Annie nodded and reached for the skirt lying in a heap of dirty clothes on the floor. When I didn’t move, she made a shooing motion.

            The heat in my face could have melted the snow.

            A few minutes later, she unlocked the kitchen door and stood off to the side to let me in. I slid my gaze over the unruly tangles of her hair. I smiled at the smudged makeup beneath her eyes and the dark red stain on her lips. She was absolutely beautiful.

            “Happy Christmas,” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Annie stood only a few feet away against the table. Her arms were crossed over her stomach. It made her breasts fuller. My fingers dug into the countertop. “Late.”

            She gave me a little smile, just an upward tip of her lips. “You’re never on time anyway.”

            I smiled back. I wanted to reach out and touch her. I wanted to drag her into my arms and kiss her until she was dizzy. Until I was dizzy. “Annie, about last night—”

            Annie went pale. “Oh, fucking hell,” she moaned, covering her face with her hands. She kept her head down and wouldn’t look at me. “I’m…  _so_ embarrassed.”

            Something cold settled in my gut. She was embarrassed. You were only embarrassed about things you wish you’d never done.  _But is she embarrassed because she kissed me or because she was drunk?_

            “You don’t think I’m a… a slut, do you Tom?” Her voice was small and heartbroken.

            “Of course not!” That was an answer I could give quick and mean it.

            Annie gave a sigh of relief. “It’s just Tony and Will, they put  _so much_ vodka in the punch last night. I didn’t even realize it was that much. Then I had four or five or six—I can’t remember. I was stupid, Tom. It was so very stupid.”

            The cold slid into my veins.  _Kissing me_ , I thought.  _Embarrassed that she kissed me_. My voice got caught in my throat. I had a million words I wanted to say to her. I love you. I want you. But not a single one of them would come.

            Was I kidding myself when I thought she looked sad? I wanted to hug her, to hold her to my chest and kiss her cheeks and her lips and tell her I loved her. More than anything in the whole wide world. But I was afraid she would think I was trying to take advantage. I wasn’t, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to hold her.

            “It’s okay,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. As much as I wanted to tell her I loved her, I didn’t want to lose her. She was the most important thing in the world to me. “Seriously. You were drunk, Annie. People do things when they’re drunk that they don’t do normally. It’s no big deal.”

            For a split second, she looked as if I’d slapped her. Then she nodded and stepped across the space between us. She was tall, almost to my shoulders, but she looked so small standing there in front of me. Annie smiled up at me before wrapping her arms around my neck. I pressed my hands against the middle of her back, trying hard not to think about how soft her body was against mine. It would be so embarrassing if I got a hard-on while I was hugging her.

            I kissed her hair, a quick peck so she wouldn’t think I was trying to get one on her. “Love you, Annie. Forever.”

            She smiled and tucked her head against my chest. My chin rested on top of her head. “Love you, Tom.”

            She smelled like cherries. For as long as I’d live, cherries would always be my favorite.


	35. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Present Day

_Tom’s POV_

            I was in Los Angeles working on production of  _The Crow_  and I could hardly keep my mind on anything I was supposed to be doing. Going through a single scene took all of my concentration. Every other bit of my concentration was taken up by thoughts of Annie and wishing that I’d never opened my mouth that day at lunch. Ever since, she’d barely spoken two words to me. And I missed her more than anything. I missed her like I’d had a limb chopped off.

            When I sat in my hotel room at night, all I could think of was the fact that Annie would just be getting up for work. If it was a weekend, she would be on a train traveling to and from Cardiff. Most days, I knew she was waking up in Ben’s arms. And I wished like hell it was me holding her instead.

            Like nearly every other night, I picked up my iPhone and swiped through the photographs of Annie and I. Then I let my finger hover over her mobile number. Some nights I got a hold on myself before I actually rang her. Others, I let it ring and ring, knowing full well that she would ignore me and delete my voicemails as soon as she got them. It was just nice to hear Annie’s voice and remember a time when she told me she loved me and she said my name like it was the greatest sound in the universe.

            I was too busy anticipating the sound of her voicemail greeting that I went dumb at the actual sound of her voice. “Hello, Tom,” she said, her voice sounding weary and soft.

            “Annie?”

            She sighed, and I could just imagine she was rubbing her fingers over her forehead like she had a headache. Was that all I was to her now? A headache and a problem that wouldn’t go away? “You rang me, Tom.”

            I cleared my throat and tried to think. “I know. I just didn’t think you would answer. You normally don’t.”

            “You call almost every day.” Part of me thought she was smiling. I hoped so. I wanted to think I could still make her happy. From seventeen, all I wanted was to be the one to make her happy. But I’d thought she didn’t look at me like that. How stupid had we both been?

            I shrugged before I remembered that she couldn’t see me. “I miss you. I miss hearing your voice. I miss spending time with you. We didn’t go to the cinema to see  _The Dark World_  together like we planned. I missed your birthday. I miss everything.”

            The sigh again. I wondered if there was a time when I’d heard her sigh in pleasure. If there ever had been, it was the night I had no memory of. “Why do you keep doing this, Tom? Can’t you just drop it?”

            “Is that you want me to do, Annie?” I could feel the tears burning in the back of my throat. “If that’s what you want, I’ll walk away. Just tell me what you want.”

            Her voice went quiet. When she spoke again, I didn’t doubt that she was crying. I felt them in my chest and through my blood. I’d made her cry and I couldn’t fix it and I was a five thousand bloody miles away from her. She sobbed through the phone and I felt like a complete and utter arse. “I don’t know.”

            I thought I’d misheard what she said. I pulled my mobile away from my ear and looked at it before putting it back to my ear. “Annie?”

            “I said I don’t know, Tom!” She sounded so thoroughly miserable. And it was entirely my fault. “I don’t know, okay? I just need time to think. Can you—please—just not ring for a while?”

            The thought of not hearing her voice again… not knowing when I would hear her say my name again… I didn’t know what to do. But I’d promised her, promised that I’d do whatever she asked. I had to do this for her, to stop being a selfish bastard for once. “Whatever you want, Annie. You’re the only girl who ever really mattered to me. I can do this for you.”

            My tongue touched my teeth, ready to press the words past my tongue. But I stopped myself. I’d feel better having said them, but Annie would probably just be miserable for having heard them. “Take care of yourself, Annie. And know I’m always here. For whatever you need.”

            I clicked off and lay back against the pillows feeling exhausted. It was a first step, maybe in just repairing my friendship with her. Maybe it would rebuild our world and open up a second chance for us to have what we should have started when we were seventeen. I smiled, remembering her with her wild streaked hair and her playful smile. If I hadn’t been such a tit, if I had pushed that Christmas, we would have had the last sixteen years together. We could have been married already, with children who ran around a house laughing and calling us Mum and Dad. We could have had an entire life together.

            Every second of a life not lived flashed through my mind. Then every second of the one I had. Kissing Annie at Christmas. Walking across Cambridge grounds with my arm around her neck and feeling like the proudest man in the world because everyone thought she was my girlfriend. Stepping out on stage for my first paying acting job and seeing her sitting there in the third row, pride shining on her face. Seeing the color bloom on her cheeks and her chest heave with her breath as I read Tennessee Williams in front of a packed auditorium, but feeling like she was the only one there.

             _What have we done to ourselves?_


	36. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Present Day

            I pinned my hair back and swept a bit of makeup over my face. The circles beneath my eyes were darker than they had been when I came back from Cardiff. I had a launch party for one of my authors and couldn’t go looking as if I hadn’t slept for weeks. Since I’d been stupid enough to answer Tom’s call, I couldn’t sleep. All I could think was that I was glad Benedict was still on set working so he didn’t have to see me. I didn’t know if it would make him sad or angry, but I knew it wouldn’t make him happy.

            I slid into my dress and picked up my purse to go to the venue. The event was at the same converted manor where Tom and Vanessa had their engagement party. As soon as I heard, I wanted to beg off. I actually tried, saying I had at least three other manuscripts to finish before their deadlines, but my supervising editor insisted I show up. So I had to look at the same scenery I had the night I’d lost Tom forever.

            But had I really? Things were so complicated. And that place was the last one I wanted to be when my brain was far too confused. It was too full of memories of Tom and things I wanted and wanted to forget.

            The publishing house was going to send a car, but I insisted on driving myself. That way, I could leave the instant I wanted to and not a second later. I planned on staying just long enough to make my way around the room and congratulate my author. Then I’d come home to a long bath and a lie down in bed in Benedict’s shirt.

            People milled about in the entry hall of the manor, taking drinks from the trays of passing servers and chatting about nonsense. Those things were always more about networking than actually celebrating the launch of a new novel or a new career. I steered away from the alcohol since I had to drive home, but had some club soda from the bar.

            My author stood by the window with her husband and her agent. She looked terribly afraid. I gave her my best smile and hugged her. “Congratulations, Tabitha,” I said warmly. “You’ve earned this. Enjoy it.”

            I stood and talked to her for five minutes or so before going around the room to speak with other members of the publishing house. Even though I’d spent a good deal of time with Benedict in Cardiff, I still had a job to do as an editor. And that meant playing nice with my superiors and stroking a few egos.

            At last, I’d spoken to all the important people and congratulated my author once again. Then I pushed my way out the manor and onto the lawns. They spread out in every direction, almost as far as the eye could see. I was suddenly bone tired and wanted to cry. I would have slipped off my heels and walked through the grounds if it hadn’t been so horribly cold. A fire and a glass of wine would have been nice just then.

            Sighing, I rubbed my face with my hands and came away with streaks of mascara on my fingertips. I was crying, and I couldn’t entirely understand why. Perhaps it was just because I was so very tired. Or that I missed Benedict being in the bed beside me. Or, as much as I hated to admit it to myself, that I missed Tom and regretted, somewhere deep in my soul, that I hadn’t given in to his request.

            “Annie.” The voice made me jump because it was so close.

            I jerked around and nearly smacked Benedict in the crotch with my purse. He jumped back and laughed as he reached for me. “Ben! What are you doing here?”

            He smiled and slid his hands into mine. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said softly, kissing my forehead. “I know how boring these things can be when you get a load of actors and producers together. I can only imagine what it’s like with a bunch of book people.”

            The exhaustion crept up on me. It made my temper sit on a hair trigger. It was an explosion when it came free. “Are you saying we’re boring? That a bunch of actors are so much better than the people who write the stories for you?”

            I wrung my hand from his. I was hot and confused and angry for a reason I didn’t understand. Benedict was there for me because he loved me. He’d taken the train all the way from Cardiff just to be with me for a night because it would be difficult for me, because he wanted to support me, knowing that he would have to turn directly around tomorrow morning and take the train back to Wales. And I was angry with him. I was picking a row with him just to take out my frustrations.

            “That’s not what I meant.”

            My feet carried me around the building toward the car park. I was practically running. Benedict had to jog to keep up with me, even with his long stride. “It’s exactly what you meant, Ben. You don’t like my stories. You think my job is incredibly dull. And for God’s sake, stop being so bloody charming and apologetic and gentle and just fucking fight for once!”

            “What do you want me to say?” He shouted it back, loud enough that people inside the party could hear. “That I’m happy to lie in bed next to you and listen to you say another man’s name in your sleep? That I like watching you pine over a man who’s done nothing but break you at every turn? That I want to sit and read your script and know that you’re choosing to go back to Tom when all I ever want is to make you happy? Is that what you want?”  
            “I don’t know!” Tears poured down my face, taking my makeup with them. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore.”

            Benedict grabbed me by the arms and yanked me back toward him. His face was flushed and his eyes were wild. “Don’t you love me? Don’t you know that? How does it end, Annie? Who does Sherlock choose? The girl who was always there or the woman who turned his life upside down? Who is it? Molly or Irene?”

            I knew what he was asking. The question had nothing to do with the show and everything to do with us. In the only way he knew how, he was asking where we were going. Where our lives would end up. Would we be together? Would I walk away from him and the last year and a half to go back to Tom?

            The problem was, no matter what I told him, he would get it wrong. And he wouldn’t stop to listen to an explanation.

            Benedict gave me a firm shake, his eyes searching mine. He looked so angry and so hurt all at once. For a moment, I thought he’d kiss me. And that was all I wanted. But then my heart kicked in and my blood surged through my body and the anger was boiling into my muscles again. I looked up into his eyes and felt myself break. Like all the integral parts of me had been taken apart and scattered throughout the entire world. I could never gather all the bits up again, and most certainly I couldn’t put them back together. The world, as I knew it, was over.

            “No one.” 


	37. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Present Day

            Uncle Mark was sitting by the window in the restaurant when I came in. He’d already ordered so that a plate of pasta and a glass of wine sat in front of my chair. His own food waited on the table. He stood up when I came in and wrapped me in a warm hug, just like Daddy did when I was sad.

            We sat quietly for a moment while I tried desperately to hold back the tears. I felt like someone had run over me with a truck. For the first time since Benedict and I had begun dating, I hadn’t gone to Cardiff for the weekend. I couldn’t stand being in the flat or on the set. Too many memories and too many hopes gone horribly wrong. I was far too broken to walk into the space where I’d been so happy.

            Finally, Uncle Mark gave me a sad smile. “How are you, Anthea, dear?”

            I felt the tear stumble down my cheek. What was the point of trying to stop it? “Miserable. Utterly miserable.”

            He scratched at his very un-Mycroft-like beard. “Then why do you keep doing this to yourself? Honestly? The both of you.”

            My chest constricted and all I wanted was to sob. I missed the scent of Benedict’s skin in the bed next to me. I missed the sound of his voice and the touch of his fingers. “We had such a horrible fight. I was so stupid, Uncle. I don’t think there’s any way to fix it. Ben is… was… is… was so supportive. He loved me. But I ruined it all.”

            Uncle Mark reached across the table and took my hand in his. “He still does. Anthea, you haven’t seen him. I have to look at him on set every day and see that look that never quite goes away. Even Martin’s worried. Everyone is.”

            “He hates me. And he should. I’ve been horrible to him. Selfish. I’ve done everything to him that Tom did to me.” The tears were coming faster and I didn’t think I could stop them. “I don’t deserve either of them.”

            My heart was already in so many pieces that I didn’t have any of it left to break.

            I’d barely eaten at dinner with Uncle Mark. I didn’t have an appetite. I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything but Benedict and Tom and the two people who meant the most to me in this world. Every step of the way I’d been stupid and reckless. All of it, every bit of sadness in my heart, was my fault.

            That night, I crawled into bed wearing one of Benedict’s shirts. It was soft and worn, the buttons chipped from being worn so often. It was one of his favorites, and I couldn’t remember how long he’d owned it. But the fact that he’d left it in my house after that night at the party made my whole body ache. Did he plan on coming back? Did I plan on going after him? Or did the things he’d brought to my home have so many horrible memories that he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore?

            I held his pillow to my nose and listened to the silence. Normally, I fell asleep to the sound of his breathing and the soft noises he made in the middle of the night. Everything was too quiet and far too lonely. In the dark, I saw the outline of his dressing gown and one of his suit jackets over the chair. Everywhere I looked, Benedict was still there. He was so much a part of me that even my house couldn’t give him up.

            I sat up in bed and scrambled for my mobile on the bedside table. All I could think about was hearing his voice, hearing him say that he loved me, that he was sorry for all the time we’d wasted being angry and not speaking to each other. I imagined the soft timbre of his voice brushing against my skin and bleeding into my bones. We’d fix this. We’d fix all of it and be together. Everything would be fine.

            My fingers shook as I pressed the buttons on the screen. I misdialed twice before finally getting it right. The ringing sounded in my ears, filling up the quiet expanse of my room. I waited for the click of an answer.

            “Hello.” His voice slipped through me like butter on warm toast. It was sweet and dark and delicious and wonderful. It felt like so long since I’d heard him speak.

             _Say my name_ , I thought desperately.  _Please say my name._

            “Annie, are you alright?”  
            The breath whooshed out of me. I was a deflated balloon. Every bit of tension and fear rushed into the air around me and settled into the floorboards. I felt better and so much worse. My brain turned on, a thousand words whispered down my nerves and into my mouth. They danced a waltz on my tongue and welcomed the world through my teeth.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, the breath shuddering in my chest. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t near enough to truly convey how repentant I was. “I’m so sorry.”

            He sighed on the other end. I wanted to feel his breath against my skin. I wanted to be with him so badly that my entire body ached. “Come home,” I breathed. “Please.”

            “Is that what you want? Really and truly, is that what you want?”

            “Yes.” No hesitation, no mistakes. I’d never been more miserable in my life. Nothing compared to the feeling of losing everything. I wasn’t about to let it go now. Not when I was so close. “Come home.”

            “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. I could hear the people around him, camera crews and PAs doing their jobs.

            “I love you, too,” I said, clutching the pillow to my chest and feeling the whole world come crashing down. “Please come home.”

            “Okay.”

_Tom’s POV._

            I sat on the plane, waiting to take off from LAX. I was going home.

_Benedict’s POV_

            My bag over my shoulder, I stepped onto the train. I couldn’t get home soon enough.


	38. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

October 2001

            I bounded down the front steps to the car waiting in the drive. Anthony was in the driver’s seat and his girlfriend was in the passenger’s. Tom was in the back, tapping his fingers against his knee to the music blaring from the speakers, when I yanked open the door and slid in beside him.

            “It’s about time!” Anthony shouted as he put the car in reverse and pulled out onto the street. The music was so loud that I could barely hear myself think. But it was Bon Jovi, so I really didn’t care. My brother shot me an unhappy look in the rearview mirror. “We’re in the nosebleeds, Annie. No one’s going to see you.”

            Pulling a face, I stuck my tongue out at him. I hadn’t been to a concert since I was sixteen and in love with the Backstreet Boys. My brother and some of my friends at university had just introduced me to ‘80s hair bands. I was excited, not only because I loved the feel of the music pounding through my body, but because Tom had come home from Cambridge just for it. I’d called him as soon as I got the tickets and begged and pleaded until he agreed to go with us. That was why it had taken me so long to get ready. Tom was going to be there.

            Both Anthony and Tom were in t-shirts, jeans, and trainers. Anthony’s girlfriend, Cheyenne, was in a skirt that I thought was too long for a concert. Especially a rock concert. But she looked pretty and my brother wasn’t complaining. I’d decided to wear a black pleather skirt that would have given Mum and Dad a heart attack each if they’d seen me leave the house in it. My friend Rose had actually found me a real vintage Bon Jovi concert shirt from the ‘80s at a thrift shop near Whitechapel. I paired it with some black Converse.

            Tom looked me over and blushed a little when I tugged my skirt down. I wondered if he was thinking about that Christmas… the one we never talked about. He grinned and tucked his folded hands between his knees, like he was afraid he might touch me. I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit pleased. I turned in my seat so I was facing him and curled my knees in front of me.

            “Remember the last concert we went to together?” I grinned.

            Tom made a face, one where his nose scrunched up and his brows smushed together. It was so funny with his tight blond curls and bright blue eyes. I laughed, which started him laughing. Together, we spat out, “Spice Girls.”

            He held out his hand, palm up. I slipped my fingers between his and squeezed. We sat in the backseat, my head on his shoulder, our clasped hands resting on my knee.

            “Love you, Annie,” he said.

            “Love you, too, Tom.”

October 2001

_Tom’s POV_

            She slid into the seat beside me, and I couldn’t help myself. My gaze went to the smooth skin of her legs. I’d nearly forgotten how long and beautiful they were, especially in a short skirt. It took everything I had in me to stop the groan building in my throat. Annie smiled at me and I couldn’t help but grin back.

            No one else in the world could make me feel at twenty like I was thirteen.

            The car suddenly got too hot when I saw Annie tugging her skirt down over her thighs. I remembered another night went I saw her in a short skirt. I was suddenly hit with a memory of the scent of cherries. The scent hit me like a blow and my hands itched to reach out to her. I wanted to slide my fingers up her calf, tickle the back of her knee until she giggled, and press my palm against the side of her thigh.

            I stuck my hands between my knees so I wouldn’t touch her. It wouldn’t do for Anthony to look back and see me groping his sister.

            She turned toward me, her whole body twisting perfectly around. Her knees stayed tight together, and I couldn’t stop my brain from thinking about what was under her skirt. I gulped and glanced out the window.

            “Remember the last concert we went to together?” She grinned at me, the corners of her lips tipping upward. Her mossy-green eyes lit up. The stars couldn’t have sparkled brighter.

             _Oh, God_ , I thought, thinking back to that horrible phase in our lives. We’d been so excited to go to the Royal Albert Hall. Even more excited for the pounding dance music and the songs we’d been singing for months. Just the memory of it was embarrassing. I scrunched my nose like I’d smelled something foul. I probably looked like I’d bitten into a lemon. Annie took one look at me and started laughing.

            Her face turned bright. Color blossomed in her cheeks and made her eyes brighter. Her smile was wide and infectious. I wanted to kiss her. Dear, God, did I want to kiss her. I wanted to just pull her close and kiss her until I couldn’t see straight. I started laughing with her. Her lips parted and I heard my voice mingle with hers. “Spice Girls.”

            Annie looked so brilliantly beautiful in the dim light of the car. My heart pumped hard against my ribs. I was surprised they couldn’t hear it, even over the thumping base of the music. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, streaks of blue cutting through the brown. I suddenly wanted to cup my hand around her neck, to feel her pulse beating against my thumb. I wondered what her skin would taste like.

            I took a deep breath and held out my hand, my palm turned up. Her skin was warm and soft as her fingers brushed my palm and slid between mine. She squeezed my hand and pulled it over to rest on her knee. Annie pressed her head against my shoulder and I inhaled the scent of her. It was cherries and her shampoo and something else. Something that made a whole part of my brain shut down.

            I swear, it was like I reverted to caveman brain. Girl. Pretty. Mine.

            “Love you, Annie,” I said against her hair. I said the words with everything in me. I meant them from the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of my feet to the top of my hair. She may never hear them the way I meant them, but I’d say them just the same.

            “Love you, too, Tom.” Her words penetrated into my chest and thrust into my heart and wedged there. I’d listen to them forever. I’d take those words and hold them until the end of the world.


	39. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Present Day

            I sat in front of the fireplace staring into the flames as they danced over the logs. My heart ached at the thought of what I’d done. No matter what I’d done all these years, everything was leading up to this moment. To the day, the very second, that I decided how the rest of my life would play out. Time had run out. There was no more living in the past or hoping for a future that would never happen.

            It was time to take hold of my life.

            It was time to decide what I really wanted.

            My gaze fell on the diamond on my finger. Benedict had put it there over a year ago. All this time, we’d been planning a wedding. We wanted to get married on the Eye with our families and all of London sprawled out below us. He would hold me in his arms at night after we’d made love and talk about having children with me. And I wanted nothing more than to see it through. I wanted to see everything with him.

            We had a life planned together.

            And then I thought about Tom, about the pictures that I’d pulled out of the box in my closet. The two of us together throughout our lives. All the times we could have had if only I’d spoken up sooner. If only I’d told him the truth that Boxing Day morning. Maybe then we would have already danced at our wedding and welcomed our first child. I would have been on his arm at an award show and trimming a tree in his flat. I would have been with him through all of the triumphs of his life.

            Two different lives stretched out in front of me. And I finally realized I could only have one.

            My mobile rang. A number I’d come to recognize over the past few days. “Hello.”

            An exotic voice answered. “Anthea. Can we have lunch?”

            I nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course. Tomorrow? At Golden China?”

            Surprisingly, it had become our restaurant. She gave a quick affirmative and clicked off. Once again, Vanessa Wallace and I would meet. Maybe for the last time.

            She stood at the door waiting for me. I ran through the pouring rain, huddled beneath my umbrella, shaking. The weight of what I was doing was more than I could carry. I didn’t know if I’d make it alone.

            Vanessa put her arms around me and hugged me tight, her perfume as exotic as she was. She pulled me into the restaurant and found a table. A waitress brought some drinks and egg roll appetizers. Vanessa sat across the table and held her hand out. I wrapped my fingers with hers.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, tears burning against my lashes. “I’m sorry all of this happened. Especially to you. You never asked for this.”

            She sighed and wiped away a tear of her own. “No, but I think I expected it from the second I saw you. I recognized the look in Tom’s eyes when he looked at you, even if he didn’t. If  _you_ didn’t. You’re not to blame for what you feel, Anthea.”

            “Someone is going to hate me no matter what I do. Someone is going to get hurt.” Sobbing wasn’t the word for what I was doing. It was like my soul was being slowly ripped out of me. I felt tattered and broken. Even making a decision hadn’t taken the weight off my shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

            Vanessa squeezed my hand. “Someone was always going to get hurt. And it’s better that it happens now rather than later. I’d rather know now that Tom didn’t want to marry me than figure it out a year into our marriage that he was in love with another woman.”

            With care, she pulled her hand away and slipped the engagement ring from her finger. She looked at it for a long moment before putting it in my hand and closing my fingers around it. “I’m choosing to walk away, Annie. I’m choosing to find something better for myself. A man who loves me and just me. That isn’t a hard decision for me to make. But I can’t imagine what you have to do. You have two men who adore you, who love you beyond anything on this earth.”

            I felt the weight of the diamond in my palm. Like the weight of the choice I’d made and the words I’d have to say.

            I sat at my dining table with my laptop and my notebook. The script for the series four finale of  _Sherlock_  was open on the screen. It was finished except for the ending. I thought back to the fight Benedict and I had at the launch party, how it had all come down to the end, to the choice Sherlock would make for his life. Molly Hooper, the girl who’d stood by and supported him from the second they met. The girl who was so much a part of him that he hadn’t noticed her importance until she was no longer there. Or Irene Adler, the woman who was more than he could ever have dreamed. Who opened up new worlds to him. Who was his match in nearly every way.

            The words came easy. It wasn’t until I was nearly finished with the final scene that I realized Benedict had known all along. This time, I wasn’t Molly.

            I was Sherlock.

            Benedict slipped into the house sometime around midnight. I’d put the last touches on the final scene at least an hour before and left the printed pages by the bathroom sink. Even though I was curled up in bed and pretending to be asleep, I knew that he knew I was awake. I could hear him turning the pages in the other room. I realized the second he finished because the house went quiet.

            It was such an odd way to determine the rest of our lives, with a few lines of dialogue and description on a page. But perhaps it was the best way I knew how. It was the only way he would understand.

            The copy I’d left for him had more information than the one I’d emailed to Uncle Mark and Steven. Benedict needed to know. He needed to be sure.

            I felt him crawl into the bed beside me and wrap his arms around me. There were no words. They’d all been spoken already. Except for three.

            “I love you.”


	40. Chapter 39 (Actual Ending)

Chapter 39

Present Day

            I hugged him, feeling the strength of his arms and the beat of his heart. I had the saddest feeling that it would be the last time. Benedict smiled down at me with tears in his my-blue eyes. My heart ached for him, for what we’d been through and what we could have endured. He was wonderful, and he deserved so much more.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, my hands on either side of his neck. The words weren’t nearly enough to convey how I wished things could be different. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted all this time.”

            Benedict smiled and kissed my forehead. “It wasn’t a waste. You’re brilliant, Annie. I love you, and I want you to be happy.”

            “I love you, too, Ben. You have to know that.”

            The smile turned sad. “I do. It just wasn’t enough for either of us. Go be happy, Annie. Do that, and I’ll be alright.”

            I wanted to ask him to stay in touch, to not hold any of this against Tom because it wasn’t his fault. Theirs was a friendship that I didn’t know could survive.  _Ours_  was a friendship I didn’t know could survive.

            I didn’t deny myself the tears as Benedict put his bags in the boot of the taxi. He leaned against the door for a moment before getting inside. He didn’t look back, but I ran to the end of the drive to watch him as long as possible.

            The neighborhood green hadn’t changed in all the years I’d known it. There was a dark patch of scorched grass where the Guiltrees had lit a bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night when we were twenty. The lawn had never really recovered.  Sitting on the bench and staring across the street at the houses where we grew up was like falling back through time. I saw a little boy running across the waterlogged green after a girl not much older than him. Was she his sister? Or a love that could endure everything life could throw at them?

            I cried, and for once I didn’t feel ashamed by it. I looked at the garden wall Tom used to jump when we were younger. How many times had we sat there talking late into the summer nights? How often had I listened for the sounds of his trainers squeaking against the stone and the tap of pebbles against my window? I remembered that night in the back garden when he kissed me and I palmed the whole thing off on being drunk. I remembered my birthday when we went to bed together and he was my first.

            Every moment with Tom came rushing back. And I could no longer deny that I’d been just as blind as he had been.

            “Annie.” His voice was soft and deep. Being back home brought out as many memories for him as it did for me. I looked up to see him standing by the bench, hands deep in his pockets and jacket collar turned up around his ears to block the chill. “Aren’t you cold?”

            I looked down at my thin jacket. “I hadn’t noticed.”

            Tom unzipped his leather coat and draped it around my shoulders. He sat down beside me, close enough to touch. “Remember  _Cymbeline_?”

            I smiled. “I remember everything.”

            “I wish I could,” Tom said softly, his fingers searching for mine. It had been so long since I’d felt his hand in mine. How had I never noticed how perfectly our fingers fit together? His thumb stroked gently over the soft skin of my wrist. “I wish I remembered everything you do.”

            As if no time had passed, I put my head against Tom’s shoulder and felt his arms go around me. I inhaled the scent of his body and the crisp smell of rain on his shirt. It was home and mine and everything I ever wanted in life.

            “It was wonderful,” I whispered, knowing he would understand what I meant. “You held me in your arms and told me you loved me. That was what mattered the most to me.”

            Tom turned toward me, his hands skimming up my neck to wipe the tears away with his thumbs. “I want to do that for the rest of my life, Annie. I have since we were seventeen.”

            We looked at each other for a long moment. The air crackled with something that I didn’t understand, but I knew it was important. I knew it was life changing. And then Tom’s lips brushed mine. It was a kiss that was soft and searching, unsure and uncertain. It was our first kiss and our last kiss and every single one in between. It was perfect.

            Tom’s hands touched my hair, his fingers threading through it and caressing it like it was the world’s most priceless silk. His eyes roved my face as if he couldn’t believe I was actually there. I wrapped my fingers around his forearm and pressed my lips to the inside of his wrist. I had to assure myself this wasn’t a dream. But we were there together and it was right. It was twenty-five years in the making.

            We fell into bed together, our hands and lips learning every contour of each other. Tom lay pressed against my side, his mouth moving slowly over mine. He kissed the spot on my chest over my heart and whispered against my skin that he loved me. My eyes filled with tears as I touched his face, my palm scratching over the ginger stubble roughening his cheeks.

            “I love you, Tom,” I said as he settled his body over me, his hips finally at home between mine. “I’ve loved you forever.”

            He kissed my lips as he slowly pushed himself inside me. It was our first time again, and it would be the first of many. His breath was warm against my cheek as he caught my gaze.

            “Forever.”


	41. Alternate Ending

Alternate Ending

Present Day

            Christmas Day at twilight. London poured out beneath our feet. It was lit up with lights and a thousand worlds turning in their own little universes. Big Ben chimed the hour. Six o’clock. It was time.

            The whole thing was very unconventional. The Eye turned, casting itself higher into the sky over my beloved city. Our pod was filled with light and laughter as our family and friends milled about. There weren’t many of them, just enough to make the pod feel cramped. But we wouldn’t have done it any other way. My nieces didn’t want to sit still or do anything other than press their noses up against the glass. Anthony and Cheyenne tried to corral them, but I didn’t have the heart to pull them away from such a sight. Every little girl should see fairy lights once in her life, and tonight, London was lit up with them.

            Uncle Mark and Martin stood across the room with Benedict and the justice. They all three looked so dapper in their suits. Cheyenne wore a pale blue dress that looked like a rainbow when she moved. I’d picked it because it reminded me so much of Benedict’s eyes. She was my only bridesmaid. She smiled at me, clearly recognizing the nervousness on my face.

            “He’s a lucky man,” she said, straightening the half veil over my hair. The brown locks were twisted up into a bun that set low on my neck behind my ear. The same as it had been on that very first date in this same exact spot. My dress was simple and a crisp ivory. No frills. But it was one I could never have imagined.

            Daddy took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles. His hair had gone grey and I couldn’t remember when that happened. He smiled in that way all fathers have on their daughter’s wedding day. “Are you sure about this, Annie?”

            I smiled and nodded. It was a question I’d asked myself since I made my decision. But I didn’t have any doubts, and I certainly didn’t have any regrets. The past was something I could never get back, and I realized that one chance for Tom and I had been enough. We couldn’t go back no matter how much we wanted to. And I loved Benedict. He was everything I needed and wanted. We had our fights and our days that were tough, but the good far outweighed the bad. And I could see myself sitting with him when we were old and grey with our grandchildren spoiled.

            “I’m sure, Daddy.”

            We walked the aisle made by our gathered guests and I saw Benedict standing there with Tower Bridge behind him. He had his Sherlock curls and a smile that made me melt into the floor. I watched his hands shake as he straightened his tie and the cuffs of his jacket. I smiled back and felt happiness bloom in my chest and cascade into my toes. It was like champagne bubbles in my blood. Heady and beautiful and giddy.

            “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered as he kissed my cheek and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. He took my hand and placed it in Benedict’s, patting our clasped fingers before going to stand with Mum. She had a handkerchief pressed to her lips and tears scoring down her face.

            “You’re beautiful,” Benedict said, looking down at me with a look of awe on his face. I’d never tire of seeing his eyes light up when I came near or of the feel of his hands against my skin.

            I felt the blush climb my cheeks and burn bright under his gaze. He smiled brighter and laughed. His hands pushed the veil over my face and stroked my cheeks. I nearly jumped when he leaned down and kissed me soundly.

            Everyone behind us laughed. From Benedict’s other side I heard Martin’s voice. “I think you’re supposed to wait until the end for that bit.”

            When he drew away, Benedict was grinning. “Sod it. She’s mine and I’ll kiss her any time I like.”

            The Eye swept toward the sky and down to the ground by the time the ceremony was over. The simple gold band on my finger was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Except, perhaps, the one that adorned Bendict’s finger. He grabbed Uncle Mark by the shoulder and loudly shouted that Sherlock had to get married now because he’d never take his wedding band off.

            As the two of them laughed together, I looked out over the crowd of our friends and family. Everyone I loved was there, everyone except Tom. I wasn’t going to invite him because I thought it would hurt Benedict. But he’d insisted, saying Tom was my oldest friend and if anyone should be there, it was Tom.

            The invitation had gone out, but no reply ever came.

            Emma was there, and she hugged me soundly, pulling me away from Benedict’s grip. He looked puzzled for a moment, but turned back to Martin when he saw the smile on my face. She hugged me again and slipped a small white card into my hand. “Love you, Annie,” she said with a wink.

            “Love you, Em,” I replied, slipping the card from its envelope. The handwriting inside was familiar, but it no longer brought the trembling ache in my heart.

             _I wish you all the happiness in the world, Annie. I’m in Guinea again, so I couldn’t be there. But you will always be my best friend because you saved my life. I’m really and truly happy for you and Ben. I love you both. Tom_

            I smiled, a tear rolling down my cheek. I hugged Emma hard once again and took the card to Benedict. He read it slowly before folding it back into its envelope and tucking it into his coat pocket for safe keeping. No matter what happened, Tom Hiddleston would always be the best friend I’d ever had. But he didn’t have my heart. Not anymore.

            “I love you, Ben.” I stood on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He slid his arm around my waist and held me close. “Forever.”


End file.
